


This Ain't No Place For No Hero(es)

by burglarhobbit (kazosah)



Category: Borderlands, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: A bit of both general plot lines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bilbo - Lilith, Borderlands AU, Explicit Language, F/M, Gandalf is Claptrap, Gen, Generally humorous, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Humor, Slow To Update, Swearing, Thorin - Roland, lots and lots of swearing, poor depictions of violence, probably, space boyfriends, you KNOW you wanna know what that's all about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazosah/pseuds/burglarhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wonderful!" Gandalf's electronic tinged voice crowed suddenly, startling both the soldier and Siren, "We're getting the band back together!" his skinny arms were thrown up high and his clamps clanked excitedly without any rhythm, "Oh, by the way, I've taken the liberty of packing for you!" he directed to Bilbo, and then abruptly rolled out of the room when Bilbo's tattoos began to illuminate again, hands curling into fists, "Let's go already!" he called back to them.</p><p>"So are you in?" Without his guard back up Bilbo could still see the look of unbridled hope in Thorin's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Could Not Give the Most Minuscule of Fucks

.

.

"Oh, god, no. No, no, no. Hell no! Absolutely **fucking** not! Nope! No!"

  
In all honesty Thorin had been expecting something far worse than such a passive aggressively negative greeting. Had it not been for the G4ND-LF unit, he would've become lost for a third time before finally finding the Siren's home, hidden under the obvious alias, The Shadow Thief. Giving it more thought, after what they had gone through of course he would've gone back to his home planet Hobbiton; were Thorin capable and the planet still existed he would have returned to Aulë-1 in the Dwarrowdelf System, but that was yet another unattainable dream; such as the likes this situation would prove to be.

  
He was good with words, good with the public - though he preferred to stay away from the sight of critical eyes and beseeching hands - but it was always _him_ that would render Thorin heavy tongued and flustered.

  
He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, glancing down awkwardly to the robot beside him that preferred the title 'Gandalf' rather than his steward-bot model name. Painted in two tones of grey, the lighter grey that encircled the bot lengthwise had chipped away with the wear of time, shaped into a sort of downward triangular form giving the comical appearance of what could've looked like a beard. The bot's fluorescent blue eye peered between the silently fuming Siren and Thorin, and back again before his little clamps gestured, "Well, go on! I've done my part with the guiding! This is where you come in! The convincing part! Serenade him or something, lure him in with promises of riches and adventure!"

  
"Gandalf!" the Siren hissed, and the sentient machine hushed with a squeak, startling backward so far on his singular wheel that he rolled and tumbled into the Siren's rosebushes with an alarmed mechanical shriek.

  
"Uhh," Thorin glanced between the fallen robot - who made a loud proclamation of being very much alright - then to the disturbed Siren, "...Hi?"

 

* * *

  
  
As the ever-polite and courteous being Bilbo Baggins was brought up to be he couldn't very well slam the door in Thorin Durinson's face like he so badly wanted to. After all the **shit** \- and the _**bullshit**_ still _after_ that - and he just shows up with his stupid, stupidly handsome face, and his stupid long dark hair tinged even more with grey that looked more stupidly artful than aging, and cropped beard, and his stupid LM regulation armor he still wore for whatever reason, sentiment, probably... though considering its condition, Bilbo figured what wasn't broken didn't really need fixing, did it? Contrariwise, Thorin's face would definitely need fixing after he was done with him. The nerve of him! Tracking him down after all the **goddamn** -

  
"Hear me out, Bilbo," Thorin begged with imploring open palms, breaking Bilbo free from his boiling rage within, "Please...?" Those stupid eyes, cold in color but harbored the ability to fill one with such unbelievable warmth with the smallest, shortest gaze.

  
Damn. Of course he hadn't built up an immunity to those eyes and that face, the damned man all together. Bilbo internally cursed his kindly, considerate nature; never one to turn away a visitor, even an unexpected or unwanted one. He could feel the wood of the door beneath his fingers quietly straining against his tight grip. Jaw clenched, he stepped aside, pulling the door open wider with his movement, and made a sweeping gesture to the interior of his modest home, giving way for the soldier - and Gandalf, to whom he gave a sharp glare to, causing the bot to roll along faster - to enter.

  
Drawing the door to close Bilbo paused in the open archway and glanced outward, taking in a slow steadying breath and looking up toward the purpling sky, he prayed for someone, anyone who was listening to give him all the goddamn strength he was definitely going to need. His tattoos flashed dully beneath his dressing gown as he shut the door gently, and with a straightness to his spine he marched through his infiltrated home to face his attacker. Anything he said he would easily say no to - he could and he would, no problem.

 

* * *

  
  
"No."

  
Thorin's brows quirked upward, his mouth agape having been prepared to speak snapped shut briefly before he mumbled, "You haven't even let me say anything."

  
"Oh, I know," Bilbo nodded, folding his hands on the table top, sweeping away at non-existent dust, "I'm just readying you for my inevitable answer: No."

  
Thorin sighed and passed his fingers through his hair, an unconscious nervous motion that never failed to make Bilbo's mouth water, damn it. "Bilbo, listen." - _Ohh,_ he was listening, alright - "People are dying."

  
Bilbo scoffed which turned into a bitter laugh, "People do little else! People are always dying, Thorin, it's what they do! It's nature, it's normal, I can't do anything to stop that."

  
"Listen!" Thorin shouted.

  
"I _am_ listening!" Bilbo roared back, "I listened when your grandfather hired me to help you lock down that Vault at the bottom of that mountain, that eventually turned into a 'Oh, wow! That appears to be opening and we didn't even touch anything! Better take care of what's inside that's aggressively making its way out because that definitely isn't alien space treasure' mission that nearly got us all fucking killed!"

  
Thorin's lips pursed into a thin line, turning his fierce gaze to the ancient wood of the table, "I know. Vault Sickness had a hold of him, if I had known his ultimate scheme I would never have allowed him to contract you - any of you. I'm sorry, I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it a thousand more, but my apologies never seem to make a difference to you," Thorin murmured steadily, softly.

  
"They might," Bilbo hummed, causing Thorin's gaze to shoot up from the table to look directly at the Siren, who shrugged with indifference, "But I doubt it."

  
The crushed hope in his eyes really shouldn't have brought such immense pleasure to Bilbo but goddamn even a small dose of revenge was great for the self esteem.

  
"If this is another contract I will see you to the door now, because I will not take it, Thorin. I'm not a Vault Hunter anymore," Bilbo explained just as calmly and quietly as he stood.

  
Thorin's chair scraped loudly across the floor with the sudden motion of his standing as well, "It's not. It's not a contract. It's the new CEO of Lonely Mountain."

  
Bilbo groaned, shoulders slumping forward as he shook his head, "I never understood big business politics, all the feuds between companies. In the end I'm just going to buy the better gun, I could not give the most minuscule of fucks as to what brand it is."

  
"It's not politics, the guy's a madman and he needs to be dethroned, and there might be -"

  
"Hang on," Bilbo interrupted, "What happened to your dad? Didn't he take over after your granddad ' _stepped down_ '?"

  
It grew quiet quite suddenly, and Bilbo could see the motion of Thorin's throat bobbing with swelling emotion - woah now, that was peculiar. "I don't know." And that was even more peculiar! Thorin raised his eyes to meet Bilbo's again and Bilbo was sure he felt his deceitful heart skip a beat.

"I need your help, please." And there it was. That sealed it. Thorin Durinson would never openly ask for aid, he'd never show emotion, he was a soldier, any moment of vulnerability was a moment wasted, a moment of weakness that couldn't be afforded in the constant battle ground that was life. To have him open up and display his fear and need to Bilbo... His need _for_ Bilbo... damn it all, he was sold.

  
"Shit," Bilbo grit out, the tattoos visible on the tops of his hands, wrists and neck, peeking out beneath his dressing gown's sleeves and collar, flared bright white briefly.

  
Thorin's eyes widened in recognition of the short conceding spectacle, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as pleasant memories of those light markings flooded his mind, along with the fact that Bilbo in.

  
"Wonderful!" Gandalf's electronic tinged voice crowed suddenly, startling both the soldier and Siren, "We're getting the band back together!" his skinny arms were thrown up high and his clamps clanked excitedly without any rhythm, "Oh, by the way, I've taken the liberty of packing for you!" he directed to Bilbo, and then abruptly rolled out of the room when Bilbo's tattoos began to illuminate again, hands curling into fists, "Let's _go_ already!" he called back to them.

  
Thorin chuckled softly and looked back to the Siren, whose tattoos were dulling back into faint white markings again. Bilbo sighed as he glanced at the man, trying and failing to contain a minute smile from taking place on his lips.

  
"So are you in?" Thorin's ever-thunderous tone asked for sure confirmation, without his guard back up Bilbo could still see the look of unbridled hope in his eyes.

  
His little smile stretched completely and brightly across his mouth, half joking, half begrudgingly admitting, "Could never say no to you, could I, soldier boy?"

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an unhealthy obsession with Borderlands and Middle Earth. So I decided to smash them together. The story will generally be balanced between both the plot of The Hobbit and Borderlands 2 - mentions of events in Borderlands with fiddled about Hobbit plot. Hopefully it'll all mesh together and make sense as it progresses. For now: Thorin is Roland, Bilbo is Lilith, and Gandalf is Claptrap.


	2. Beware And Kindly Fuck The Fuck Off

.

.

The journey back to Arda was a long one; seeming to draw on even longer because of the awkward tension firmly settled between Thorin and Bilbo, as well as the excitable G4ND-LF unit that had smuggled himself onto the shuttle and very literally settled himself snugly between Thorin and Bilbo in the cockpit - that bot sure could talk, and talk... and talk.

  
But - blessedly - his claptrap jabberings abruptly cut short when a breaking news report transmitted to the ECHOnet receiver implanted beside his damnable, inexhaustible communication vox box. The report went: _Just a few moments ago, a train on Arda in the arctic scourge region of the Misty Mountains derailed and exploded, losing all its cargo and what passengers it may have been transporting. A short investigation proved the derailing was likely do to faulty train assembly; a problem with gears, track magnetism, engine troubles - but **definitely** not specifically placed explosives, that could absolutely be ruled out_. The report crackled and faltered, then picked up again with a new voice, no longer the voice of the former reporter but a sharp, sickly sweet, deep rumbling voice warning: _All Vault Hunters, beware and kindly fuck the fuck off. Lots of love, Handsome Smaug_. The recorded broadcast continued on with static.

  
"Well then," Bilbo hummed with sarcastic certainty dripping from his voice, "Clearly just an accident."

  
Another voice crackled through the unit's vocal speakers before Thorin could turn a very unimpressed glare to the Siren. The voice was familiar to both of them, but Bilbo's shaky suspicions were confirmed when a live feed hologram of the speaker projected from Gandalf's eye, "Balin, Bifur, Fíli and Kíli were on that train. Contact was lost just before the crash, and no contact has been established since. We can't confirm if Bofur and his B0M-BR unit caught that train."

  
Bilbo leaned in closer toward the tiny two-dimensional blue translucent image, half tempted to flick at the little face of the heavily tattooed head, "Well if it isn't Mister Dwalin," he chuckled shortly then looked to Thorin who looked very much the grim solider he usually was, "By the way, who're Fíli and Kíli?"

  
"See you managed to convince He-Who-Goes-Unseen," Dwalin said, a hint of amusement in his strict gruff tone.

  
Thorin pursed his lips, ignoring both Bilbo's question and Dwalin's comment in favor of ordering Dwalin, "Round up volunteers to search the area, be quiet about it. Keep me posted."

  
"Aye." With that the conversation ended, Dwalin's holographic image dissipated and Gandalf continued on with the latter half of a word he'd been interrupted in the middle of as the report began, talking as if he hadn't even realized he'd been used as a glorified radio and telephone.

  
Bilbo was still waiting for an answer, watching Thorin busy himself with precise key strokes and shoving Gandalf to roll away, grumbling about the dire need for mute buttons. Bilbo recalled this strong silent persona very well, and he also recalled how much it irked him; his jaw clenched but he remained quiet, Thorin had heard his query, there was no reason to repeat it, eventually he'd quit with his attitude and answer... probably.

  
"They're my sister's sons. Very adamant about helping the cause." Just as Bilbo's irritation was about to reach its cap, Thorin answered as the planet proximity indicator toned and flashed. Bilbo watched as his fingers swept over more keys and a tranquil feminine voice recited, " _Ship cloaking mode activated. On planet approach. Ship docking in... Five minutes_."

  
Gandalf's background babbling suddenly ceased and his tire would've emitted smoke if he'd wheeled over any faster, " _That's_ quite the alluring software modulation. GALADRIEL Systems Auto-Pilot, huh? Well, hell _ooo_ there."

  
With Gandalf now occupied, animatedly talking at the AI system that was likely incapable of responding, and probably lucky enough not to hear and comprehend Gandalf's endless chatter, Bilbo followed Thorin to the empty cabin of seats, muttering, "So Dís had some kids?"

  
Thorin huffed a noise between mild mirth and contempt before murmuring, "A lot's happened in twenty years."

  
Bilbo nearly recoiled in disgust at the blatant color of blame in his tone, but limited himself to narrowing his eyes into a glare and biting out, "Don't start this shit again. This isn't about us. This about... whatever the fuck this is about; interplanetary megacorporations. Certainly not us. I'm here to help you, alright? Just here to help. I don't need to be fucking guilt tripped when it wasn't me who -,"

  
"Okay!" Thorin raised his hands in surrender, taking a step back to further widen the space between them, "Alright! Sorry, it's just - I mean to say a lot's happened since you've been gone, since you left. And not a whole lot of good... Aside from the boys," a smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. "You would've loved them when they were just wee lads."

  
Bilbo felt his mouth curve into a smile of his own at the sight of Thorin finding joy in something other than enemy bloodshed or his bloody homemade turret - Orcrist. "Yeah? And I won't like them now?"

  
"Teenagers?" Thorin snorted, "Who _really_ likes teenagers, honestly?"

  
"Oh, come off it. You love them, I know it. I can see it in your eyes," he stopped himself just in time before his tongue continued, _I know because you used to look at me like that_ ; he swallowed down the thought, keeping his grin on, "They're a pair of miniature yous by the sounds of it, couple of soldiers. Adamant to the cause, like you said."

  
Thorin's smile dimmed, and Bilbo's did the same and he quickly found himself bracing for the inevitable 'not a whole lot of good' to be explained.

  
"Dís is in critical condition," Thorin said, a shadow darkening his entire being, "She, Vili and Frerin were on a mission a few weeks ago. Leading a group of people to Rivendell, they commandeered a train, they were nearly there, but then..." he paused, and Bilbo could hear the sound of his knuckles cracking under the strain of clenching his fists so tightly, his own hands tempted to reach out and soothe them, an old instinctive motion, but he refrained. "Smaug and the very worst of his agents, you might remember, Azog, intercepted them. We only know what we know because of the ECHO Dís had on her when she was found. She's hasn't woken. The ECHO captured everything, from the seemingly homefree moments before they were caught, to Smaug's vicious tauntings once he and Azog were on board, then every scream, every plead for mercy, every last gasping breath that followed after his order for 'these savages' to be killed. We found her and a few others still holding onto life, but she's the only one that hasn't passed."

  
Bilbo couldn't recall ever meeting Vili; he was likely the boy Dís was so enthralled about when he had chatted with her so long ago. But Frerin, his heart squeezed, Frerin was no older than 12 when he'd met him. Sure, he had grown into a man, but all Bilbo could picture was Azog - that awful mess of a man, fitted with LM loader parts from where ever he no longer had his original limbs, and that harsh, grating, half mechanical voice, that monster cyborg of a man - cutting down that sweet little boy, Thorin's little brother, who had been so academically fascinated in Bilbo's Siren tattoos and powers.

  
"That's why they're so adamant." Thorin's voice pulled Bilbo's mind away from the nightmarish image of young Frerin's murder playing over and over again. "So damn insistent and prepared to die. They're fools."

  
Bilbo made a tsking noise and Thorin's eyes snapped to him, daring him to challenge him, but for an instant he forgot who he was talking to, Bilbo Baggins always did and always would challenge him. "I recall a young, bull headed soldier determined to impress his grandfather at any chance he could. That young soldier wanted glory and riches, so willing to charge into any fight, any battle, to achieve them. Gain his detached sickened grandfather's favor, as if he were starved for attention." Thorin visibly balked, and Bilbo continued on, strangely set on defending these boys he hadn't even met against Thorin's harsh words. "These boys have a cause and reason of their own. Something horribly real they want to fight for, and you call _them_ fools?"

  
Silence beat for several moments between them until the sound of the auto-pilot's modulation squealed, and Gandalf answered with a yelp of his own. Thorin sighed, breaking his stare from Bilbo's and moved back toward the cockpit, "Well they'll be glad to have your unwavering loyalty, just like I used to have..."

  
Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the snark in his tone and plopped down into a seat, folded his arms against his chest and crossed his left leg over the right.

  
"Oh, and Kíli's a Siren, by the way," Thorin added, giving Bilbo no time to react when he bellowed for Gandalf to stop trying to _copulate_ with the auto-pilot, and something else about ports and fuse boxes and closing open panels exposing wires not meant to connect.

  
The bot rolled by, wailing, arms flailing, hiding among the last row of seats, but Bilbo was still stunned by the fact that one of Thorin's nephews was a Siren. But then his stunned demeanor flitted away when he realized Thorin likely had ulterior motives and - the bastard! Bilbo shot up from his seat and marched back into the cockpit, just as the modulation was intoning they would be docked and free to exit the spacecraft in 15 seconds. "Hey! I am not a babysitter! That had better not be the sole reason you dragged me from my home, you piece of sh- AHH!"

  
The ship began to dock with a violet shake, sending Thorin lurching into the pilot's chair and Bilbo stumbling into his lap with a yelp. Thorin grunted with the sudden added weight, his hands unconsciously latched onto Bilbo's form when the ship gave another jolt, and then the auto-pilot's voice piped smoothly, " _Ship docked_." Realizing their tastefully compromising position now that all was still, he did a shoddy job of keeping his delight from displaying on his face while Bilbo's face twisted up into a sour expression.

  
"Certainly not," he hummed in answer to Bilbo's rage, "I'd be lost without my burglar."

  
Bilbo's shoulders slumped and he growled incoherently as he scrambled from Thorin's touch and marched into the cabin to retrieve his shit as well as the still quivering, abashed Gandalf, promptly leaving the ship and stepping into ridiculously toxic atmosphere and onto the earth of Arda after twenty long years. He hated how it felt being back, hated how he'd missed it and adapted so easily to it, just like the insufferable man inside ship.

  
Bilbo took in a long pull of the polluted air, eyes sweeping over the desolate, dusty lands, afflicted by greedy humans and atrocious creatures; an outcropping of urban life amid this horrendous wasteland. "Damn it," he breathed out on his exhale. He felt like he was home.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel, I would like to imagine, is just an AI system of Elven technology, and her voice is like the pre-set tone for robotics and systems and networks. Like the female voice that mocks you every time you respawn from the New-U Stations. What else? Thorin is still Roland, Bilbo - Lilith, awkward romantic tension, but mostly just hella awkward... and hilarious. WITH A TOUCH OF ANGST. Dwalin! A brief glimpse of Dwalin and mentions of other characters! It isn't obvious, but Dwalin will be taking the placement of Brick. Um. Oh! Dís. Helena Pierce anyone? And say what? Kíli is a Siren? Which could only mean one thing... adorably awkweird and strangely gaseous Siren Maya. Bofur is Gaige! With his original B0M-BR unit - Bombur, if you will. Aaand, I think that's enough explanation for now.  
> I'm having a stupid amount of fun with this.


	3. Well That's A Bit Of Shit Rotten Luck

.

.

"Rivendell," Bilbo hummed contentedly as they started for the small city, a touch different from the way he remembered it, a handful more turrets peppered along the perimeter, thicker walls - _additional walls_ , a city wide shield (that seemed to be malfunctioning, fantastic! Probably needed a new power core), armed guards - most decked in LM regulation gear, others with mismatched scraps of various brands of armor. It was clearly no longer the city that kept close to peace and far from feuds, the way it used to be, but those moral roots were still there - choosing to fight the good fight, a safe haven for refugees, a headquarters for Thorin and whoever else he'd added to his team for this war against Smaug.

  
"Yes, it's the only place in Arda we can call sanctuary against Smaug's constant defiling of the planet. Destroying the mines, and any towns and cities in his way, to drill deeper for more Mithril. We fled here a few years back, luckily the Elven people were willing to look past our tremulous history to accommodate their city into a stronghold for us and others seeking refuge."

  
Bilbo scoffed, turning sharply to soldier and craning his gaze upwards, hoping his glare was being received even though the sun was shining directly into his eyes beyond Thorin's head, likely coming off as pitiful squint than a stare of death. "If it weren't for my friendly connections you'd've never had Rivendell to flee to! You tit!" He punched Thorin's arm where the least amount of armor was protecting him, around his elbow, to which he didn't even flinch. "No one remembers the past between Dwarven and Elven people except you, you fucking relic. Elrond and me are cool, that's how you got this place, admit it."

  
Thorin avoided his eyes, clearly searching for a lie to sputter out as they drew nearer to Rivendell's main gate. But he was never a smooth liar like Dís - like Fíli and Kíli had inherited from her. "I... may have mentioned The Shadow Thief."

  
"Name drop!" Gandalf crowed and quickly wheeled ahead of them to the gate, skidding to a halt before the guard there and giving him a mock salute, his clamp clanging loudly near his eye, "Captain Gandalf, reporting for duty! I've successfully reunited the Siren and the Soldier, I'll accept my reward in the following form: one, collect 139,377 brown rocks from the desert plains of Rhún, two, the remains of Ungoliant found and delivered to me in a coffin constructed of Carcharoth's deformed skeletal structur - Hey!"

  
"Alright," Thorin murmured, shoving the bot behind him and Bilbo, "That'll be quite enough." He looked to the guard, attempting to peer through the reflective visor of the helm concealing the tall commando to identify him, but eventually just glanced to the patch on his jacket with a name stitched, "Ah, Corporal Beorn," he belatedly realized the enormous stature of the man should've been a dead give away.

  
"Sir," Beorn rumbled back.

  
"Big Bear," Bilbo murmured in a militant tone, though the smirk crinkling the edge of his mouth revealed his clear amusement.

  
Beorn glanced down toward Bilbo, behind the helmet his smile couldn't be seen but it could be heard in his voice when he muttered back with joyous welcome, "Little Bunny."

  
Thorin's eyes were rounded, bouncing back and forth between the two, a brow plucked up in confusion and astonishment, he cleared his throat, coaxing Beorn's attention to shoot back to him. "Sir, Dwalin is expecting you." He then turned to the control box hidden behind his massive form and poked carefully at the small buttons. After a quiet sigh of relief, his huge fingers having not fuddled the code, the gate raised and he turned back to his General, standing respectfully at attention.

  
"Thanks..." Thorin mumbled, still very much dazed by the exchange he had witnessed. He walked forward, and a few moments later he found both Bilbo and Gandalf catching up to him.

  
"What the hell was that all about, do you know everyone?" Thorin hissed out, nodding to every soldier they passed, properly outfitted or not, as they saluted him.

  
"I'm friendly," Bilbo pronounced slowly, "Like I said! The reason we have so many allies is because of my friendliness. You should try it sometime." Bilbo trotted ahead of Thorin up the steps, along familiar lanes leading to the city center. "Definitely more militarized," he murmured, noticing nearly every citizen, soldier or not, was armed with a gun. Which meant Glóin - whose shop, ' ** _Glóin's Guns_** ', he would easily find by the number of signs with guiding arrows and shoddily painted images of guns on them - was likely swimming in his profits. Around another corner he couldn't imagine how anyone could miss the large neon red cross and diligently curved letter's that flashed ' ** _Dr. Óin's Quick Fix Clinic_** '.

  
It seemed Gandalf was right, the old band really was coming back together. He wondered, moderately impressed, who else Thorin had managed to wrangle into this mess without his help.

  
"Durin's Day HQ's this way," Thorin's gruff murmur interrupted Bilbo's musings, along with a brief touch on the back of his arm before he swept ahead with long strides.

  
Bilbo moved to follow but stopped short, "Wh- Durin's Day?" He hurried to catch up with Thorin, and glanced around to see Gandalf had slipped away and disappeared into the city, left to his own devices, quite literally. "What the hell is Durin's Day?"

  
"It's what we call ourselves, collectively. You remember Baruk Khazad?"

  
"When you were primarily a servant to Melkor Corp? How could I forget your grandfather's best yes-man. He practically sold you to them and you -"

  
"So you remember!" Thorin confirmed loudly, cutting him off before Bilbo could begin another rant of the shaky past, "Most of the soldiers of Baruk Khazad pledged their allegiance to me once Smaug took control over Lonely Mountain. Forming an alliance under the same name, when we were subordinates, wouldn't do. So I came up with something new - well, it's actually an old saying."

  
"An ancient saying," Bilbo scoffed, "Doesn't sound very common. Has anyone else ever heard of this old saying?"

  
"No, but-"

  
"You really need to think these things through, mate," Bilbo laughed.

  
Thorin glared as he took the HQ's door handle and pulled the heavy door outward, "Shut up."

  
Bilbo stepped through the threshold first and quickly took in his new surroundings. "Oh dear lord," he groaned at the sight of a familiar white haired Dwarven scientist with an ECHO recorder held close to his face as he blathered ardently. The brilliant yet socially inept scientist was a _very_ welcoming sight combined with the line of thin cots, lockers full of ammo and insta-health jabs against one wall, and washing machines unlikely meant for actually washing clothes but as another means of storing possibly useful treasures (another one of those usual tendencies that irked Bilbo) against the opposite wall.

  
He felt a nudge against his shoulder then Thorin murmuring, "Be nice." A grin evident in his tone.

  
"I **am** nice. _He's_ a complete nutter," Bilbo hissed quickly pointing an accusatory finger toward the kempt man, probably far too busy with his own thoughts and mutterings that whispering didn't even matter. "Still fussy and insane?" Bilbo wondered, though the evidence was quite clear. In a corner of the ground floor there was a desk and cushy office chair, files were stacked high, organized alphabetically and by color, as well as a stack of ECHO recorders labeled by lecture.

  
"Fussy, yes. Insane, definitely. But an indispensable member of this alliance," Thorin sighed, though the grin was still there.

  
"Hm, sure," Bilbo hummed with a nod, then took a breath before raising his voice in friendly greeting, "All right, Dori?"

  
The mad scientist, having plopped into his office chair, spun around and stood swiftly, declaring aloud, "I've told you time and time again, Thorin, I need a new work space. These accommodations smell of pony meat and as you well know - pony meat is for sycophants and products of incest - oh!" Dori abruptly halted his words upon sight of Bilbo offering a peaceful smile. His eyes darted up and down Bilbo's form, shot to Thorin behind him, and swept over Bilbo again before muttering with a derisive air, "Oh, it's you... The Siren. Got rid of that ghastly red and pink mohawk thing, did you? Finally."

  
Bilbo tried not to bristle at the insult, thoughtfully bringing a hand up to brush through his wild honey brown curls reaching length just below his ears. "Yeah, can't be 20, sexy and punk forever," he laughed; though the curls were not so unruly to conceal the pointed tips of his ears, and with the motion of his carding fingers revealed a brief glint of shining metal of heavily pierced cartilage, evidently a bit of the old punk remained.

  
Dori's attempted expression of pleasant visibly curdled as he tried to curl his mouth into a grin, which just ended up looking pained and terrifying more than anything, before he quickly delved into incoherent growls, his eyes twitching with a glare as he sat back in his chair and spun to the corner.

  
Bilbo's eyes rounded in amazement and relief, "And that's about all I'm going to get from him. Unless he tries to steal my handkerchief again to study the molecular structure of Siren mucus," he turned to Thorin whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, Bilbo punched him in a thinly armored region of his torso, "Moving on?"

  
"Just upstairs," Thorin puffed out with fake pain, clutching a hand over his stomach, the other gesturing toward the stairway as he led the way. On the next level the first room they walked through was furnished with two bunk beds and a ratty couch and card table with three chairs, along with a glaring eye sore that was a massive wall safe. Moving through into the next room, every single inch of wall space was covered with screens, control panels, and in the center of the room a table that projected hologram images of any part of mapped Arda. It very much looked the part of command central. Especially with the hulking mass of soldier poring over screens, flicking through live feed images of arctic terrain, but turned immediately upon being called, "Dwalin."

  
"Sir."

  
"Hey, Dwalin," Bilbo greeted casually as he hopped up to sit on the hologram table, "Do you actually _know_ what Durin's Day means?"

  
Thorin rolled his eyes as he took over where he'd interrupted Dwalin at the live feeds, while the taller Dwarven soldier faltered, "Well, uh... It's an ancient sort of... holiday or... the translation is so... erm..." he fumbled until ultimately hurriedly mumbling, "No. Not at all."

  
Bilbo gestured to Dwalin just as Thorin whipped his gaze around to level the Siren with an agitated look, " _See_? Your group name sucks."

  
"Shut up," he shot back then focused on his lieutenant, "Any news?"

  
"Sir Littlescrap's in Moria, closest to the crash site, but he hasn't been able to get past his front gate. Spot of bother in the form of goblin bandits littering the town, as well as frost wargs beyond the town walls."

  
"Shit."

  
"Moria's not that far, we could just go ourselves," Bilbo shrugged, drawing both soldiers attention to him as he continued, "Help Nori out of his little bind, then move onto the crash and pick up the rest."

  
Thorin shook his head, "Not that simple."

  
"Why not?" Bilbo's brow rose curiously.

  
"Our DNA is no longer on record in the Re-Stor Stations," Dwalin explained, "We die out there, we don't come back. And if it wasn't already painfully obvious, Smaug's got a bit of a hard on for our deaths."

  
"Huh. Well that's a bit of shit rotten luck." Bilbo chewed on his bottom lip in thought, "Are any of us still in the LM Re-Stor system?"

  
"The boys, Bifur, Bofur, Balin. We're working on getting them in there but they risk giving away ours or their location to Smaug if they die," Thorin said.

  
Bilbo hopped down from the table, " _If_ they die. As I recall Balin is the most brutal dual weapon wielding warrior from Aulë1 and the quickest in reviving fallen comrades. Bifur," he gave a half shrug, "Though I've no clue what his Khuzdul haikus mean, they sound nice, and I'm glad he's _our_ insatiable gun for hire."

  
The room filled with silence, aside from the ever-constant whirring and bleeping of machines, until Bilbo threw his hands up and called to the ceiling, "Alright, so they may or may not be in the system. Is what you're telling me?" He looked back and forth between soldier, who each gave him short nods, "They could be _dead_ dead, or they could have respawned right into this Smaug fellows death hungry clutches?" They nodded again and Bilbo followed the motion with them until he clasped his hands over his face and puffed out a sigh.

  
"Okay," he muttered behind his palms, then dropped his arms back to his sides, a look of determination coloring his demeanor, "As much as I'm in firm opposition of dying and staying dead, I think we must do something. Two of us should go, one should stay here. I am definitely going, so you two figure out amongst yourselves who's accompanying me."

  
The soldiers exchanged a brief glance and then Dwalin was marching toward the next room, "Aye, aye, Assassin Baggins."

  
Bilbo huffed a chuckle at the old nickname, one of the many he'd accumulated so long ago as a young Vault Hunter, but then another doorway caught his eye, one that led out to a small balcony. He would've immediately investigated further if it weren't for the smug look on Thorin's face stopping him in his tracks. "Just what the hell are you smirking about?"

  
"Nothing," he shrugged, just as innocently indifferent as his tone. "It just seemed like you were so reluctant for another adventure, yet here you are, barking out orders and ready to lead the rescue team," he grinned shamelessly, the light of it blaring so brightly and warm enough to melt a layer of ice around Bilbo's heart - the bastard. "It's like you never left."

  
Thorin's grin didn't lessen, in fact, in combination with his eyes sparkling with unabashed mirth, Bilbo felt his heart thudding faster and harder, threatening to shatter away all that ice before it could be melted away completely. He needed to make a quick escape in a desperate effort to hide his affection, and he did so by sharply turning on his heel and marching toward the balcony while he grumbled, "Shut up."

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bilbo's really friendly, but he spouts out profanity like woah - basically a Bilbo with Martin like tendencies. Uh! Beorn! I live and breathe for Beorn calling Bilbo 'Little Bunny' (so I was very disheartened when Beorn in The Desolation of Smaug wasn't much of the man I had envisioned while reading the Hobbit - I was so ready for Little Bunny, SO READY. THEN I WAS SNUBBED), here he's just a soldier...? I guess... So far? I haven't thought it thoroughly through. Dori is Tannis. Nori (Sir Littlescrap - because that's what Nori's name means, heeeh? Clever) is Sir Hammerlock. Dwalin is Brick, as already established. Glóin is Marcus. Óin is Dr. Zed. Baruk Khazad is/was the Crimson Lance. And Durin's Day is the Crimson Raiders. Annnnnd... I think that's it for this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Side note! Huge, massive thanks to those who've given me kudos and those who've subscribed to the story! Lots of love and many big squishy cuddles for all of you!


	4. King of Every-Fucking-Thing

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.

"Must we though? Must we go to that pretentious little prick?"

  
Bilbo laughed aloud, "Hey, _you're_ the one that recruited and gave him a garage here, not me. I'm just utilizing our resources. And Dwalin already made the call for him to prepare a Knight for us, so yes, we must. And he really isn't all that bad."

  
"You only say that because you know enough Elvish to understand what the fuck he's muttering between gracing us with bits of agonizingly, mockingly slow enunciations of Westron. He's such an arrogant little shit. Like speaking the common tongue is so difficult. He just -"

  
"He has his preferences," the Siren defended in a mild nearly sing-songy tone, "I studied Elvish, contrary to your belief, not to sound like a pompous dick but because - in such cases as this - it's useful. Cultures and maps, things you actively neglect, I find fascinating. I'd study Khuzdul, too, if you Dwarven folk weren't so damned secretive," Bilbo said, following Thorin's lead through the city, "Still surprised you told me your secret name after just a year," he confided quietly.

  
"Well, I would've told you earlier if -," Thorin's murmur cut off in a puff of breath when Bilbo's arm suddenly flew out and thumped against his chest, halting them both in mid stride with a horrified gasp.

  
"Woah, **wait**!" Bilbo turned a marginally frantic glance up to Thorin, "If Lego is here, does that mean Thranddi is too?" His eyes were filled with such hope, pleading to be spared flirtation that very usually, very quickly drifted toward assault.

  
But Thorin couldn't lie, it was likely Bilbo would eventually cross paths with the Elven barman/host of the Woodland Theater/freshly-divorced-and-on-the-prowl whilst in Rivendell. "Always comes when Daddy calls, doesn't he?"

  
"Shit!" Bilbo cursed, continuing toward Legolas's garage, noting an ornate sign down the lane that was essentially an enormous green leaf welded out of metal scrap, as if that was enough and the addition of words weren't needed. "He tried to marry me last time we met. Remember when he kept asking if I wanted to be his fifth husband, or third wife? I still don't even know what that was supposed to mean!"

  
"Yeah. I remember," Thorin grumbled gravely, but then a small smirk pulled at the side of his mouth at the more precious memories of eld, " I had to save you a few times from his advances."

  
"Sadistic, alluring, lustful, dangerous. All combined in a tall, lithe, Elven blond. Seductive voice softly murmuring innuendo. The Elvish things he's said to me; they don't translate well into Westron, but I can tell you they were absolutely filthy. I mean, I can see the appeal, but," Bilbo shrugged, "Not exactly my type."

  
Walking a step behind the hobbit Siren, Thorin's smirk grew into something wider, more triumphant as he knew exactly what Bilbo's type was; brunet, tallish, more... soldiery (okay, what he lacked in poetics he made up for in physical finesse, alright?). His glee faded the very moment they stepped into the pristine garage of Greenleaf Automotive, but his stomach gave a wistful flop when Bilbo, with careful elocution, greeted the young Elven man with a vowel heavy phrase.

  
Legolas turned, long blond braid whipping around his shoulders, a bright smile on his mouth for Bilbo, and a steely look of indifference for Thorin. Bilbo proceeded, as undoubtedly the most respectful and cultivated of the original Vault Hunter four, with an Elvish gesture of peace; Legolas was in mid motion of returning the salute as he crossed the garage but dropped it completely to encompass Bilbo in a firm embrace. Thorin stood off to the side, eyeing the keys to the E.L.K. dangling between the Elven man's fingers, he could just grab them, haul Bilbo over his shoulder, tear out of there and be spared the lispy exchange evoking an ache in his temples.

  
"You're out of practice, mellon." Thorin faded back in at the sound of words he could comprehend and did his best to keep a look of disdain from his face.

  
Bilbo shrugged, shining brown ringlets brushing briefly against his shoulders, "Haven't had a reason _to_ practice. Or anyone to practice with."

  
Thorin cleared his throat, and not at all in a nonchalant effort to get things moving, more in a very obvious, loud and pointed way to get things fucking moving. But Bilbo seemed already fully shifted back into his Not-Giving-A-Shit mode when it came to Thorin's impatience - a well learned and exercised skill from years ago, while Legolas leveled him with a glare.

  
"Right, well," he took Bilbo's hands and pressed the keys into his palm, curling his fingers over them, "Careful out there, Arda's undergone great change in your absence."

  
The Siren nodded, a half smile of confidence on his mouth, "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

  
They were on the road - well not so much a road as a path, more like a track - out of Rivendell, secured with four guns each and fully loaded with ammo after a short visit to Glóin's shop and with a mention of the waiting Knight and rescue mission the man had been all too excited to start up a rant about how profane that little shit Legolas was as a step-son, no matter how short the duration of that marriage was. Thorin was prepared to agree and add his exasperated viewpoint as a commanding officer, but Bilbo had exploded, completely marveled by the idea that Glóin had actually married Thranddi. But then, quite soon, the Siren's attitude changed and he proceeded to tug the soldier away by the arm before Glóin could delve too deep into detail of more private, intimate matters; Bilbo was calling out his thanks and farewells over Glóin's loud words, they were on a mission after all, time sensitive and - "Oh my god, go, go, go, he's talking about cocks, go, move, Thorin, _go_! Run!"

  
Just as they passed through the main gates with Bilbo waving to Beorn and then slamming the gas pedal down to the floor, Bilbo just barely registered the words, "You're a constant flirt." over the roar of the Knight's engine.

  
"No, I'm not; I'm friendly. You're just easily made jealous."

  
"No, I'm not."

  
"Yeeah, you sort of are. And by ' _sort of_ ' I mean completely."

  
"Whatever," Thorin grumbled from the gunner seat, "Just drive..." his words then dissolved into indecipherable grumblings and Bilbo laughed at the familiarity of it.

  
"Is Moria south or north along the Misty Mountains?" Bilbo asked, stopping at a crossroads, a post of signs pointing both directions didn't offer much - scrawled in paint or blood (favor the former) by orcish psycho or goblin bandit hand 'Pis off' or 'Die Dwarfn Skum'.

  
"You know very well which way it is with your keen geographical knowledge."

  
Bilbo grinned, cranking the wheel hard in the southern direction, "I know." He slammed on the gas pedal, sending them toward snow covered landscape at rocket speed, "I just wanted to hear you say that."

 

* * *

 

  
"Seriously, it's more narcissistic than anything," Bilbo mumbled as they trekked through snow, having had to forgo their vehicle once the pathway became to narrow and blocked by an outcropped cluster of rock. He used his long sniper rifle as a walking stick as they trudged along, moving much faster to keep ahead of Thorin's longer strides. He panted from exertion between every few words, "I mean... your _name_ is in it... isn't it? ...Something to do with... royalty... right?... Probably?"

  
Thorin sighed deeply, his breath fogging his vision in a big white cloud, "I swear - If you'd just -"

  
"I mean, honestly... You could've done... something with... Baruk Khazad... Mixed something around... to suit you... But no... Instead, you went with Durin's..." he coughed after a particularly heavy pant sent a shiver of cold air to tickle the back of his throat, "Day," he completed, and paused in step to glance at their location on the map display on his ECHO device, "Because you think you're the king of every-fucking-thing," he mumbled as he noted they were quite close to Moria, close to meeting up with Nori, and the thugs that've kept him trapped in his own home.

  
Thorin trudged past him, prepared to explain Durin's Day to the fullest extent of his knowledge, "Just-," but yet again Bilbo cut him off, this time for good reason.

  
"Woah, shut up," he grabbed Thorin's arm to cease the sound of snow crunching under heavy boot, "D'you hear that?"

  
It was a distant sound on the icy wind, but Bilbo picked it up easier than others; Dwalin had joked, ages ago, that with the way those ears looked they had better come with super hearing - that day Dwalin learned just how badly a gut punch from a Siren hurt, especially with a fëa boost. It was the sound of gunfire, the screeches and taunts of goblin bandits, and snarls and roars of frost wargs putting up a fight. Possibly fighting each other? Or possibly fighting over who would win the right of ripping Nori limb from prosthetic mechanical limb.

  
They needn't exchange any words as they broke into a run. Lungs and throats stinging with gasps of breath of icy air, legs burning against the strenuous terrain, the pain was easily put aside in their minds by the objective at hand, adrenaline fueled by the imminent fight and rescue, and just a bit of nostalgia - glancing and grinning at one another when the other wasn't looking - neither of them would admit to it, though.

.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I had hoped this video game/movie/book crossover wouldn't be a difficult read, I know that it is, and I apologize. But I'm hoping/thinking/working on as the story continues it'll read easier into a more aaah, yesss, I get it now vibe and could be strictly read as a space boyfriends AU for those that aren't familiar with Borderlands. So - though I hate to say it - bear with me?
> 
> Moving on! Legolas is Scooter (instead of hillbilly talk I think that Legolas just goes all Elvish slang and shit and people can hardly understand what he's saying, much like Scooter, though unlike Scooter, Legolas is very organized and clean. E.L.K. - Elvenmade Landrunner Knight, or just a Knight, the all terrain vehicle of Arda). Glóin is Marcus, and Thranduil [Thranddi] is Moxxi, and Marcus and Moxxi were married once upon a time. Umm, I think that's it. Far from Hobbit canon, and swerving away from Borderlands canon, but canonically similar situations quite soon. Also Siren crap will be explained soon too, I REALLY thought it through. I feel bad for my friends on the receiving end of my 'yeAH BUT WHAT IF THIS' texts.


	5. ... Well, fuck!

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By the time they rounded the mountain side they were breathless but had their weapons primed to fire, eyes fixed to peer through scopes and center a target in the crosshairs. But the imminent fight appeared to be at its end, they lowered their guns as they looked over the slew while a homemade hovering defensive robot was slashing his massive metal claws through the last of the goblin bandits plaguing Moria.

  
"Atta boy, Bombur!" Thorin and Bilbo's gazes snapped to the familiar voice as the bot dutifully returned to his praiseful creator. Bifur and Bofur were supporting Balin on either side of him - an arm slung over each of their shoulders, while Kíli was reloading a ridiculously meager sniper and Fíli was fussing about with a clearly faulty pistol.

  
"Always has trouble clearing a jam," Thorin mumbled seemingly to himself with his eyes trained on Fíli's struggles, "It's why I taught him how to make his own turret. Kid would've been months ago without it."

  
Bilbo's mouth curved into a small smirk, of course if Thorin had fatherly characteristics they would be strictly analytical - gruff bastard. "Well," Bilbo sighed, catching his breath back, "Everyone's accounted for, if not slightly bashed up... Nothing one of Óin's health jabs can't fix."

  
"Uncle!" Kíli - Bilbo could distinctly identify as the boy had similar white markings to his own along his forearms where his shirt sleeves were pushed up and peeking up one side of his shirt collar and thinly marked the left side of his face, the Dwarven Siren - called out after landing on the two while scoping out the area through the sniper sights.

  
The soldier and the Siren started toward the group as all eyes turned toward them, Balin gratefully, but weakly calling, "Thorin!" And Bofur wondering in amazed disbelief, "Bilbo?"

  
"Hey! Looks like you've got everything sorted," Nori cheered as he jogged to his electrified gate and wall surrounding his modest mountainside home, mechanical leg sticking on every third step.

  
"Yeah! And a fat lot of bloody help you were!" Bofur shouted back, grumbling curses under his breath until Bilbo placed a friendly pat on his back, then he delved into their tale, "So we're on the train, right? Bomb and I are making our way through the cars to find the rest, and all of a fuckin' sudden we're in mid-fuckin'-air and then we crash. Everythin's dark for a while and hurts, and it's smoky and hot and cold. Then this little RDA-G5T unit," he gestured with a sharp nod of his head behind them, and a steward bot, painted in three tones of brown and spotted with bird shit, popped into sight, rolling around from behind the cover of their legs to examine Bilbo and Thorin, chattering quietly to itself - Bofur continued, "Collected us outside his place. Muttering on about Smaug's always dumping dead things on his porch and he was glad to find us living... barely."

  
"Kí encased us one of his huge faëlock shields, it was amazing! He's never done that before!" Fíli gushed just as Nori finally joined them.

  
"Probably won't be able do it again. And it still didn't spare us all from harm," Kíli murmured, glancing apologetically to Balin.

  
Bofur readjusted Balin's arm around his neck with a huff, "Got the boys some jabs and some shitty guns, got past a goliath of a warg and made our way here, thanks to that little bot."

  
"Radagast!" the brown robot exclaimed, one arm raised skyward, clamp clacking excitedly.

  
"Right, yes," Bofur distractedly agreed, wincing slightly in pain, likely from a wound in his side staining his shirt dark with blood, "Anyway. Don't suppose you've got transport? Fast Travel here's busted."

  
"What, Nori, you can't fix it?" Thorin asked.

  
Nori shook his head, "Haven't got the right parts, and by the time we come across something to salvage we'd get overrun by goblins or orcs or wargs, we'd probably be more than half way back to Rivendell, too."

  
"It's fine," Bilbo interjected, "We've got an E.L.K. If we arrange everyone carefully we should - ah!" His words cut off with a short cry of surprise, a bullet pierced and stuck in the armor along his shoulder blades, sending him stumbling and swiftly turning around and bringing up his gun, the Durinson's doing the same.

  
Bilbo was prepared for more gunfire from the bandit scout but was surprised to find the goblin suspended in the air, motionless, in an orb of glimmering white light. Bilbo took the shot, the goblin's thick skull exploding messily and the orb disappeared, sending the dead bandit to the snowy ground with a loud thump. He glanced back to the young Siren, impressed by his skill, but reassigned his focus, knowing that scout was only the beginning. More bullets rained down on them and less than half of them were armed. "Shit!"

  
They quickly shuffled to and crouched behind a small outcropping out rock, Fíli and Kíli were popping around the edge in turns, shooting back, their ammo lessening quicker than their number of attackers. Bilbo shoved his sniper into Kíli's hands when all his ammo was spent, then proceeded to pull a shotgun from where it slung on his back, "Get them to the Knight and take them back to Rivendell," he called to Thorin over the sound of gun fire and bullets pinging off rock, "I'll draw them off."

  
Thorin nodded, loading up and passing Fíli his pistol just as the younger soldier's gun emptied, like a well oiled machine, as if they'd done this times before, "I'll back you up."

  
"No, no," Bilbo discouraged as his tattoos flared, pulsing, growing brighter and brighter as he pumped his shotgun for the ready, "Go with them. Most of them are injured, you've got to protect them." His markings were solidly illuminated, and just before Thorin could object Bilbo peeked around the outcropping edge and scooted back just as a bullet chipped away at the rock where his face had been a second before, "Comm links are always open, I'll find my way to a Mount-An-ELK station, now go!"

  
"Bilbo!" Thorin shouted and made to grab for the Siren but he was completely gone from sight as he turned around the corner of their coverage. He cursed loudly and hauled both his nephews by the arm, keeping them all firmly behind cover as he waited the allotted time for Bilbo to reach their attackers. And before the young ones could ask what the deal was the rain of bullets ceased completely and Thorin was urging them to follow him back to the E.L.K.

  
"What about Mr. Boggins!?"

  
"I can't even see - Did - did he just go completely invisible?!"

  
Bofur barked out his laughter, "He'll be fine! He's done this times before!"

  
"We'll meet up with you in Rivendell; Fí," Thorin added surely as he pressed the keys to the Knight into his elder nephew's hand, "Get to Óin, drive fast."

  
"Thorin!" Balin called after the soldier rushing away toward the bandits with a SMG drawn and firing. The damned fool was never one to stick to a plan, and Bilbo was likely the most capable of all of them on his own, but still the soldier had to barrel in, more pigheaded than heroic.

  
"Keep going!" he shouted back to them, drawing out Orcrist.

  
Kíli tugged his brother to move, the Knight just in sight, Bofur ushered them along, taking the keys from Fíli who seemed too stunned to do anything more than walk.

  
The boys, Nori, Balin, Bombur and Radagast were all arranged haphazardly, barely settled in when Bofur turned the key in the ignition and pressed his foot down flat on the gas pedal, kicking up snow and dirt as the Knight failed to find traction from a moment before roaring away from Moria and the gunfire Bilbo and Thorin were the center of.

 

* * *

 

"So how long does this usually take?" Kíli asked as they drew nearer to their sanctuary behind Rivendell's gates, "You said Boggins has done this before. When should we expect them back?"

  
"Oh, give it an hour or so... Or perhaps they might show up before us; wouldn't be the first time," Bofur explained, tipping his hat to Beorn as he zoomed through the open gateway into the stronghold and screeched to a skidding halt just before Legolas' garage. "You two," he looked between Kíli and Fíli as he hopped from the drivers seat, "Go to HQ, tell Dwalin everything that's happened, see if he can get a read on Thorin and Bilbo's position, get comm links up and connected, go!"

  
The brothers followed the order, hearing Nori's crow of, "Hey pretty boy! Give us a hand over here!" at Legolas as they sprinted through the garage and through the other entrance to get onto the narrow lanes of the city. They very nearly tumbled horrifically when a certain grey steward bot rolled into their path asking what the rush was.

  
"Gandalf!" Kíli stumbled but Fíli continued for him, "Go to Óin's! Tell him he's got some injured coming his way, he might have to prepare for surgery! Go!"

  
By the time they clambered up the steps to the control center of Durin's Day HQ Dwalin already had an expression crossed between grim and aggravated. The two were panting for breath and ready to explain everything as quickly as possible but the massive soldier just shook his tattooed head, "Lost Bilbo's position after he left Moria, headed southeast, communication disabled, possibly still connected. Thorin was caught in the crowd following Bilbo, he was cutting in and out before everything went down, last blip of a location was somewhere near the Iron Fortress."

  
The three all stared at one another for a few long silent moments before Kíli threw up his arms and flopped them back to his sides with a slap, dejectedly proclaiming, "... Well, fuck!"

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the company! Nori/Sir Littlescrap is Sir Hammerlock, a hunter and collector of sorts, robotic arm, leg and eye. Balin is a great duel gun wielding warrior, Salvador. Bifur is a Khuzdul haiku spouting assassin, Zer0. Bofur is Gaige, but he's not a teen, as is obvious by his recognition of Bilbo. Bombur is Deathtrap, Bofur/Gaige's homemade robot guardian. Fíli is Axton, cocky, jokey, solider. Kíli is Maya, adorably awkward but powerful siren - summons orbs to entrap baddies. And... that's it... right? NO! Radagast! Radagast is another claptrap unit. Now that's it. Siren crap, as I said in the previous chapter note, WILL be explained. Possibly in chapter 6 or 7. We'll see.  
> I so wish I could draw to illustrate what Bilbo and Kíli look like as sirens. How everyone looks in Borderlands-verse, really. That would be great. Oh, sob. Anyway, thanks for the reads and subscribes!


	6. I can't believe that fuckin'- ugh, shit-for-brains - bloody fucking moron! Fuckity fuck!

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"Dammit," Bilbo cursed and grumbled under his breath as he pressed the plunger of the third health jab into his leg. He still felt like a thrice run over pile of warg shit, but he figured that was just because his body wasn't used to the instant health serums like it used to be; he was older now, technically wiser, but he felt so much like his stupidly adventurous and enamored twenty year old self again. Lugging around light and heavy arms with tons of extra ammo that never seemed to be quite enough across the wretched land of Arda. Running to and from psychos and bandits they more often killed than spared.

  
Bilbo had not been a killer or a Vault Hunter until Thror Durinson hired him as the codename: Burglar among his group of voluntary Vault Hunters. Had the Tookish side of him not been so prevalent and raring for adventure that day his life would've been drastically different; right now he would've been at home, on Hobbiton, having his second cuppa before noon as he pondered over what he would purchase from the market for dinner. He definitely would not have been watching his skin slowly knit back together while lazily flicking at the communication receiver of his ECHO device in a southern forest of Arda - both he and the ECHO damaged by enemy gun fire as he drew the bandits away from his injured friends... Friends? He hadn't spoken to any one of them in two decades... Colleagues? Associates? Ah, fuck it, calling them friends was easier and truer. Friends. Friends that had taught him how to loot, shoot, kill, and survive.

  
He gave the ECHO a particularly brutal flick, a bit of Siren power bursting from his fingertip with the motion as he considered the other things he learned long ago solely by Thorin's teaching. Perseverance, technology, battle strategy and love. The last of his wounds were sealing up, healed over completely, just as he bitterly recalled his 21 year old self's pitiful musings about insta-health jabs possibly healing broken hearts. He flicked the ECHO again, the emotion fueling his Siren boost causing the device to skid sharply across the table he was seated at.

  
"Shit!" he hissed and clambered over the table to reach it, praying it wasn't rendered useless; his eyes rounded in astonishment as he reached and saw the screen glimmer to life and heard the automated voice intone, ' _Communication links enabled - reconnecting to network_ '.

  
"Yes!" he crowed through a wince, still feeling sluggish though he no longer bared any injuries.

  
Niceties, proprieties, and holographic image projected radio conversation etiquette aside, Dwalin answered Bilbo's call with an abrupt shout of his name, that sounded only a pinch worried, and that was a pinch and a half more than usual.

  
"Hiya!" Bilbo responded, sitting back in one of the rickety old chairs around the table, kicking his feet up he as he immediately strayed from professional and turned onto casual, giving Dwalin an update, "Found one of my old Arda digs. Remember Bag End of Entwood? Completely untouched! Well... Aside from a few dozen fanatics hanging about. Did you know the Shadow Thief had a cult following?" Bilbo laughed, flicking a stray curl from his vision, "They think I'm some sort of god," he grinned, totally smug. "I could absolutely get used to this. They call themselves Children of the Shadow Thief, born in the shade of my magnificence."

  
"Bilbo."

  
"I know, I know," Bilbo sighed, waving off what would no doubt be a spiel about great power and great responsibility, "I won't let it get to my head. Anyway, I just wanted to check in before I headed back. Everyone made it back safely, yes?"

  
"Uhh..." Dwalin faltered, and Bilbo's feet dropped down from the table top, already physically bracing himself for the worst, "Good news is Balin made it just in time for Óin to save his legs, he's just resting up now. Everyone else's had their health jabs, good as new," the solider explained carefully.

  
"And the bad news?" Bilbo asked with something between an irritated growl and an exhausted whine.

  
There was a long pause where Bilbo thought the connection dropped, Dwalin's holographic image was frozen, but then he sputtered out hurriedly, "Thorin's been captured," with his image lagging after his words.

  
"What?!" Bilbo wailed, tattoos flashing brightly, "How the **_fuck_**?!"

  
"He gave them the keys to the E.L.K. then went after you."

  
"God! Damn it!" Bilbo stood swiftly, his chair tipping back and clattering to the floor, his foot kicked out and in a white flash of Siren fëa power another chair sailed across the small room and shattered to pieces against the wall. "I can't believe that fuckin'- ugh, shit-for-brains - bloody fucking moron! Fuckity **f** **uck**!" Bilbo shouted, and he thought his voice was reverberating back to him somehow until he realized his followers were merely chanting along with his cursings. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut and took a few breaths before sighing, "Do we have any idea where he was taken? Where he's being held?"

  
Dwalin was well versed in the Siren's temper and did well to just wait and let it play out instead of giving futile mutterings of keeping calm and everything would be alright. "We do. He's just on the other side of Eriador Divide, but -"

  
"There's always a but," Bilbo murmured under his breath, "And never the kind I'd rather prefer."

  
"- Gall and Wormwood Goblins."

  
He buried his face in his hands and groaned, "Fuck's sake!"

  
And Dwalin kept on with information and instruction to reclaim their stolen leader, "They're holed up in the Iron Fortress Dam Dale Corp constructed for Gondor. All you need is an E.L.K. modified to look like a Bandit Automatic Tank to get in and rescue Thorin."

  
" _Oh_ is _that_ all?" Bilbo mumbled with a clearly sarcastic tilt to his voice that didn't affect Dwalin.

  
"Lego has someone who can help you outfit the Knight. They're in the Narrows of Eryn Galen, near the East Bight."

  
"Alright, alright," the Siren hummed while he swept his fingers along the ECHO screen to get to the map display, he input the location Dwalin said, "Send someone down to help me out and we'll retrieve his majesty's dumb ass -," he halted his words, making out the dull sound of a different mantra in the air, "Uh oh. I think I hear my cult followers chanting something about a sacrifice. Better look into that."

  
"They're on their way. Be careful, Bilbo." Was that a hint of concern? Possibly... But best not to openly observe it.

  
"Always am. You should offer that advice to your stupid ass best friend," he smirked, though it likely didn't register in the pixely blue hued image on Dwalin's end.

  
"Duly noted. Keep me updated."

  
"Will do. Baggins, out."

 

* * *

 

"So, invisibility," Kíli mumbled, idly taking in the scenery while keeping his eyes open for bandits or psychos or anyone/thing else that would love nothing more than to murder them in cold blood and blow up their vehicle... and probably put their murdered dead bodies into the vehicle before they blew it up. "That's Mr. Baggins'," he pronounced with care, "Siren power?" He looked to Bofur in the driver's seat.

  
"Mmhm," Bofur hummed, "I think he calls it something else, though. I really don't know all that much about it. You can ask him all you'd like once we reach him, provided you drop the 'Mr. Baggins' shit. Respect to Dís for raising you and Fíli to be so polite, but it'll just weird him out."

  
"Right," Kíli laughed, but his smile quickly fell upon recalling the state his mother was in, then deepened even further into a frown thinking of the situation his uncle was in. He wondered what terrible things he must have done in a previous life to now live in such hell. Glancing down toward his fists clenched tightly in his lap he saw his tattoos glow, the fine little markings on the tops of his hands lit brightest in his silent fury.

  
"Easy now," Bofur murmured consolingly and Kíli snapped his gaze to him. "We'll pick up Bilbo, we get Thorin, he'll be fine, Dís will be fine, and we'll slay Smaug. Everything'll be fine, you'll see," Bofur winked and before Kíli could respond the Dwarven mechromancer knocked on the partial roof above him and raised his voice loud, "Alright, Bom, we're headed into bumpy terrain, hang on tight!"

  
In answer, the defense bot settled in the gunner seat simply dug his long claws through a portion of the roof, securing himself in.

  
Both Bofur and Kíli chuckled before the gas pedal slammed down to the floor and they sped through sparse mountain forests, howling with laughter with the erratic ride.

  
Not too long after their laughter died down as the constant bumps and jerks from the rocky path was more hurtful and annoying than fun. But finally, after some time, they crossed the Eriador Divide and were drawing closer to Entwood.

  
"Thank goodness, my ass couldn't handle another hour of that abuse," Bofur grumbled mournfully, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Kíli snorted, though he was doing the same thing, shifting to fold his legs beneath him to ease the pressure from his behind. There weren't any paved or worn paths to follow to Entwood since most people steered clear of that forest, believing it was home to the oldest trees on Arda. There were stories about the trees talking, some of them even capable of pulling up their roots and walking around, planning the demise of humanoid creatures that had invaded their once peaceful planet, thirsty for their blood... At least that's the campfire story kids were told. No one had ever ventured in to seek the truth until Bilbo waved off the preposterous bloodthirsty idea and marched into woods two decades ago to speak to the trees himself. And that's how the Vault Hunter's established an ally among the ents and trees spirits of Entwood.

  
Mounted on the dash of the Knight, Bofur's ECHO chirped, signalling an incoming transmission. He pressed a button to accept the call and loudly called out: Hello!

  
"Bof! Wasn't sure who was coming. My ECHO just informed me of a new connection, figured it was one of you - Anyway!" Kíli and Bofur glanced at one another at the peculiar almost breathless tint to Bilbo's voice, "Close by? Please say yes."

  
"We're nearly there. Are you alright? Trees revolting against you? Did they get a taste of Hobbit blood and now they've gone into a frenzy?" Bofur joked.

  
Bilbo barked out a short laugh, "No. No, no. Not the trees. It's, uh. Long story short, my cult followers got upset with me when I whisked away their human sacrifice, and now, well - Could you just hurry up and help me out with my fanatic problem, then we'll get to work rescuing Durinson?"

  
"Making our way as quick as we can. Broadcast your location for us?"

  
"Yeah, sure," Bilbo grunted, and softly cursed under his breath, the sound of a gun quickly reloading followed after, then three shots fired and Bilbo breathing a sigh of relief before muttering, "Alright. Should be showing on your map now."

  
Kíli swiped the screen to the map and there indeed was a blue pulsing diamond in the southwest portion of Entwood.

  
"Yep! Be there in a jiffy!" Bofur confirmed and hit the acceleration booster, the extra speed nearly lifting them off the ground as they neared the forest.

  
"Thank you!" Bilbo hollered back and ended the call.

  
When Kíli and Bofur arrived in Bag End of Entwood they found complete chaos, beings of all races with white painted attempts of elegant Siren tattoo script were converging on the tallest tree that elevated Bilbo's mini-HQ. They armed themselves, approaching with care once they saw a tree limb suddenly creak into motion and swipe blindly, launching half a dozen cult followers across the forest clearing.

  
"Hey."

  
Bofur jumped a foot in the air, so startled by Bilbo's sudden presence beside him, he nearly crowed in fright, but bit his tongue, and instead hissed at the suddenly visible Siren beside him, "Mother **fucker**! I hate when you do that!"

  
Bilbo snorted, "I remember the first time I saved you with fëawalk. Bombur was busy with the bulk of baddies, I snuck up and cut the Orc who was about to blow your brains away's head off, you thought it was some magic of your own manifesting until I reappeared, and you what did you fucking say? 'That's a cute party trick'."

  
Kíli laughed at Bilbo's impression of Bofur's accent, and ever-cheerful, rarely offended Bofur laughed too, clapping his hand on Bilbo's shoulder, "Aye, you little shit. It's a party trick when you use it to scare the shit out of me and steal my kills."

  
"You were going to fucking die!"

  
"I had it under fucking control."

  
"You-! You know what, fine," Bilbo sighed, giving up the pointless fight before it could really begin, "Shall we clean up before we leave?" Bilbo produced the shotgun from where it slung on his back and cocked it once.

  
Bofur and Kíli followed it suit with their gun's and Bofur murmured, "Go get 'em, Bom."  


* * *

 

  
They were zooming northeast bound through the forest with Bilbo driving, he dodged the trees with practiced ease, but it still made Kíli's stomach jump each time a head on collision seemed imminent. Bofur was in the gunner seat, probably used to Bilbo's driving, and Bombur simply dug his claws in a little deeper into the flat bed of the vehicle.

  
Once they were free of the forest Kíli relaxed, and apparently it was obvious in the way his taut muscles loosened and he practically oozed down his seat.

  
"Thorin did the same thing when I first drove, he was so pale," Bilbo laughed, then suddenly took his right hand from the wheel and stuck it toward Kíli, "We haven't properly met. Bilbo Baggins."

  
Kíli looked to his hand, saw the markings on the elder man's hands similar to his - he never thought he'd ever meet another Siren, someone that knew this life better than he did, someone who could probably educate him; he tried to ignore the fact that everyone he knew neglected the fact that his Uncle's boyfriend was a Siren, so many questions could've been answered years ago, his fëa control mastered much earlier, possibly. Just someone to talk to, someone who understood. He met Bilbo's hand with his and shook, "Kíli Durinson."

  
Bilbo glanced away from the forest land slowly drying out and giving way to the arid land that lead toward the Mirkwood Blight that surrounded the barely maintained highland where Thranddi ran his Woodland Theatre, to give the young Siren a friendly smile, the expression crinkling the small tattoo beneath his eye.

  
Kíli already felt leagues less insecure about himself, but a blush still tinted his cheeks as he returned Bilbo's smile with a crooked tight lipped grin. Finally, someone who knew, someone who understood.

  
The drive was quiet for a while, aside from the roar of the engine and crunch of dirt beneath the tires and Bofur jabbering at Bombur. But when Bilbo looked to his ECHO to make sure he was going the right direction and how much longer it would be until they reached Legolas's connection (for the third time, regardless of having a natural sense of direction), something else caught his eye. In the passenger seat Kíli idly picked at his nails, his eyes set on the scenery rather than his picking action, but it wasn't that that caught Bilbo's attention, it was the little scars along his forearms, fainter than his tattoos, slightly pink, but not so light or thin enough to be mistaken as part of his tattoos. Glancing briefly back to the road, Bilbo looked back to the teen and could see another scar along his collarbone, scraping through the tattoos there, and below his ear, nearly concealed by his hair but Bilbo could still see it. He focused back on the terrain.

  
"Picked at them when they started to show up, yeah?" From the side of his vision Bilbo could see Kíli whip his head around to look wide eyed and confused at him. He nodded vaguely in the direction of Kíli's hands where the collection of little pink scratch mark scars were greater in number.

  
Kili glanced down and made a pointless effort to cover the marks as he nodded, half shamed.

  
"Yeah, I did, too," Bilbo murmured, eyes trained on the seemingly endless barren stretch of land before them, "Thought I was dying at first, some sort of alien skin disease, but then I realized what it really was. They sort of faded in dully, then they were all there, fresh and bright... My cousin - awful bitch she was, tried to fucking kill us way back when - Commandant Sackville, she was a Siren too. She did well in keeping it a secret though, covered herself up so it wasn't obvious. But after a while, you got used to them, right? I mean, there's nothing you can do to get rid of them, or your power. It's very literally a part of you."

  
"Yeah..." Kíli hummed, tracing a fingertip along the seemingly random, yet intricately bled markings along his forearm, "I was scared. Confused. Since no one's ever been - I mean, of my race. It's usually, you know, Hobbits, like yourself, or humans."

  
"That doesn't necessarily make it a bad thing, being the only one of your kind. That just makes you... unique," Bilbo shrugged his shoulder, and glancing back to Kíli, he added, "And as far as we know there _could_ be four other Dwarven Siren's out there."

  
The younger Siren smirked, "Maybe. But highly doubtful."

  
Bilbo mimicked his grin and looked forward again in time to see the beginning of Mirkwood Blight, a once beautifully enchanting forest that was home to a number of Elven people, now ruined and quite literally filled with creatures and things that enchanted one straight to their death. It proved to be a more noxious and dangerous place since Handsome Smaug amped up his mining for mithril and gold and any other precious ore; caustic chemicals poured into mines to accelerate the digging and drilling process creating toxic waste environments and those that didn't die from such treatment miraculously adapted into something grotesque, tenacious and with a insatiable hunger for murder.

  
Needless to say, they were all quite glad that they could take a detour from driving through the forest and simply cruise along the edge toward the East Bight where Legolas said his associate was. Though driving through the carcinogenic forest that would likely be the setting to the ends of their lives would've been quicker, driving around was the right choice, even if they had to deal with Bofur's repetitive wailings of, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet, now? _Now_? Yet? There _yet_? _There_ _yet_? Are. We there. Yet?!"

  
"Yes!" Bilbo called, knuckles clenched tightly on the steering wheel just as white as his shining tattoos, though the smile on his mouth gave away his amusement, not as irritated as he sounded.

  
They rounded the edge of the Bight and kept on inward, and in the distance they could see a sign: a large branch of a tree naturally creating the shape of a capital 'T', smaller and thinner branches created an apostrophe and a lowercase 's', all of which was outlined in leaves and flowers.

  
"Uhhhm," Bofur hummed in confusion as they passed up the sign and drew closer to the small garage nestled in the western most part of the Bight, taking in the piles of junk and scrap acting as a rudimentary wall of sorts. "Are we sure about this?"

  
"This is one of Legs' comrades in mechanics, and their aid is vital in rescuing our moronic leader, so yes, we're sure."

  
Bilbo's ECHO sounded aloud with Legolas' voice, "Great! You've just made it to Tee Tee's. Word of caution though, keep a brave face, she can smell fear. And don't let her see you cry, she thrives on the tears of men!"

  
Another voice piped up on the ECHO, feminine and scoffing, "Oh, my -! Shut up, Legol _ **ass**_!" Bilbo, Bofur and Kíli exchanged startled glances of confusion while Legolas was cackling on the other connection, and the woman's voice sounded over it, "Just pull right into the garage, guys. I'll be there in a second."

  
Each of them were a tad apprehensive about the whole thing, but Legolas knew her, and she could help them - so Bilbo shrugged and pulled the Knight into the garage, parking it right over the pit, and killed the engine.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins this massive note... Okay. Here we have the Siren power referred to with the word 'fëa'.   
> Fëawalk and fëalock.   
> In Borderlands, Lilith and Maya's powers are phasewalk and phaselock - Lilith turns invisible to everyone (except other sirens) and walks in another dimension, Maya locks enemy's in a ball of energy that suspends them and renders them motionless in another dimension.   
> Here I've switched 'phase' for 'fëa' for Middle Earth reasons. Children of Ilúvatar are described as existing in two parts: spirit - fëa, and body - hröa. The elves say the spirit is powerless without the body and vice versa. Bilbo and Kíli as Sirens in this story are not bound to this idea, and can manipulate their own and others fëa with their power. Bilbo controls his own spirit to overpower and encompass his body to render himself invisible (ahem, a certain ring of power, anyone?). Kíli projects and wields his own spirit to entrap another's spirit [as the elves said, body is powerless without the spirit, and the other way around]. And... yeah.   
> I'm not sure if that's at all clear... I hope it is.   
> And the tattoos just come with being a powerful hottie, but I've changed those up for the Hobbit-verse and will explain later on.
> 
> Who could possibly be the mechanic of Mirkwood Blight?! wink wink.
> 
> And just out of curiosity, is there anyone reading this that has played the Borderland games?


	7. Cata-fucking-strophic Damage

.

.

"Alright, boys. Shields are officially down. Rivendell is **not** defenseless but _is_ completely open to enemy fire. If we want to keep this sanctuary safe we'll need a new power core," Dwalin explained to Durin's Day soldiers that remained after Bofur, Bombur and Kíli departed to aid Bilbo in getting Thorin back, and with his brother set up to rest in Óin's place, he was largely addressing Fíli and Bifur. He was partially glad Bilbo wasn't there to roll his eyes and mutter something about how he could've told him the power core was busted without even looking at it, the smug little shit.

  
Fíli and Bifur waited for Dwalin to continue, knowing this was a no-stupid-question zone, serious matters at hand. "We haven't got the time to construct a new power core of our own, and even if we did it likely wouldn't maintain the strength of one that's brand fucking new. So," he paused and turned to the holographic projection table behind him and brought up a map of the Misty Mountain train route, specifically the track switch near Mount Gundabad, "Radio chatter has informed us that Smaug's got a number of items being sent from Angmar to the Lonely Mountain, two of those items are of significant importance: a power core, and," he took a slow inhale before he breathed, "The Vault Key."

  
Both Bifur and Fíli's postures straightened, their expressions brightened, unconsciously leaning forward with peeked interest.

  
"We can intercept that train, steal the core and the key, while at the same time stopping any and all shipments from reaching Smaug at the Lonely Mountain."

  
"Win win!" Fíli grinned, bracing his hands on the table, "So what do we have to do?"

  
Dwalin pressed a few buttons and the train route was swept away, a different mountainous view taking its place, "We've got our man out in the Ettenmoors, following the train's schedule and keeping an ear out for anything else of interest."

  
"And drinking. Mostly drinking. Probably," Fíli noted.

  
"Probably, but you can't expect the man to recover so quickly after what he's gone through. And we'll have to call in a favor from our young explosives expert, as this is an operation that requires the most critical damage with the least amount of work."

  
Bifur murmured limerick of bombs and death to their enemies that had them chuckling for a few moments until Dwalin sobered and zoomed in on the Ettenmoors, "You'll find our man here," he pointed, "And from their he'll take you to the young one's workshop."

  
"Littlescrap and Dori still sensitive subject matter?"

  
Dwalin turned off the holographic function, a thoughtful look on his face, "As far as I know, beyond his nonsensical personality the guilt still lingers, he **chooses** to isolate himself. He can talk about them, can mostly stand to be in their presence, but still be prepared to run from lit sticks of dynamite, if you must."

  
"Right," Fíli nodded, "Probably just wait to talk about Nori and Dori until after we get the core and Key." Then without any further instruction from Dwalin the young soldier patted the assassin on the shoulder, they geared up and headed out in a Knight.

* * *

 

  
"Well," Bofur sighed after the fifth minute passed and they were still left alone in the business/residence of Legolas' reliable mechanic friend. There might've been some order to the chaos that was the junkyard that surrounded them but they couldn't see it; inside the garage was a different setting, similar to the immaculately clean garage Legolas kept in Rivendell. Maybe it was an Elven thing - if the woman was Elven, or maybe it was a mechanic thing... Though Bofur kept a positively filthy work station, but  _his_ specialty was bots, not vehicles. The mechromancer jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a pink lighter. "Since _clearly_ we're the only ones on a schedule here," he mumbled as he fished a stick from the package and flicked the lighter to spark a flame.

  
"Suppose you're right," Bilbo hummed, then extended his hand out, fingers wiggling, "Gimme one?"

  
Bofur extended the pack to the Siren's reach as he muttered around the stick between his lips, "This ain't your Hobbiton grown herbal shit, ya know."

  
"Yeah, yeah, you Dwarven people still smoke like beginners," Bilbo muttered back with a smirk, tucking the cigarette between his fingers and shuffling closer to share the flame with Bofur as they both took in the first long pull.

  
Another five minutes passed and Bofur was just down to the filter, puffing up the last bit and prepared to flick the butt into one of the junk piles but halted when a voice emitting from seemingly nowhere called, "If you think you can just flick that without consequence you're mistaken."

  
The four spun all around until they found the source, an Elven redhead climbed over the high wall separating the Bight from the Blight, and skipped down a trail that apparently only she could see.

  
Bofur's brows raised high enough in astonishment to disappear beneath his hat, "No offense, missy, but it's just a pile a rubbish, what harm could it do?"

  
The Elven woman, T, or Tee Tee, walked toward them, adorning patchwork armor and a dark grease smug across the bridge of her nose, dulling her light sprinkling of freckles. She had a smug and suaveness about her that was eerily familiar as she plucked the butt from Bofur's fingers and said, "Just a pile of extremely _flammable_ rubbish." She flicked the butt away toward another mountain of junk, "Now that I've finally got this place just how I like it, I'd prefer it not engulfed in flames. If that's all right with you." She turned on her heel, offering a lazy motion over her shoulder for them to follow.

  
The last pull of smoke from Bilbo's stick puffed through the corner of his mouth and his nose as he chuckled at the partially affronted look on Bofur's face, while Bombur followed dutifully after the woman, and Kíli looking like his eyes were going to burst from his skull the way he was staring after her. He stubbed out the rest of his cigarette on the underside of his boot before tossing it in the direction T had and followed Bombur's lead.

  
"When Leggy said you needed some help modifying your E.L.K. I thought I'd take it upon myself to go out to search and salvage some tank parts from Dol Guldur," she explained once they were in the garage and she shamelessly stripped away her armor until she was in her underthings and boots, then plucked grease, sweat and blood stained coveralls from her work bench. She slipped the filthy thing on with practiced ease and zipped it up just to her chest, turning to the guys with a friendly twinkle in her hazel eyes and grin on her mouth, "And by search and salvage, of course I mean blasted the hell out of some psycho orcs and stole their shit."

  
"Oh, my god," Kíli whispered and very nearly stumbled into the other open pit. Bilbo seized his arm and yanked him back, distinctly hearing the boy whimpering something like ' _I think I'm in love_ '.

  
"Oh, I'm Tauriel, by the way. Very rarely branches naturally create shapes of letters, hence the lone 'T' and the rest of that disgraceful sign. Legolas calls me Tee Tee, knows I hate it, which is why I call him Leggy," she stuck her hand out and still grinning she nodded with each acquaintance she made, she even regarded Bombur, switching her right hand for her left when Bombur hesitated with his long clawed right appendage, "He's quite impressive," she noted to Bofur, and his previously stormy attitude instantly lifted, beaming with pride. "In fact, I could probably use his help with the heavy lifting, if you don't mind," she added, jutting a thumb over her shoulder.

  
"Of course!" Bofur made a large, dramatic sweeping gesture with his arms that had the Sirens rolling their eyes, "Lead the way, m'lady!"

  
Through a gate along the wall Tauriel had climbed over she pulled in a Knight with a flatbed trailer hitched to the back, stacked high with tank scraps and... "Are those spider parts?" Kíli asked.

  
"Yep," Tauriel grunted as she, Bofur and Bombur lifted the heaviest of scraps to their E.L.K. above the pit, "Some of them have these corrosive venom sacs, really sensitive, difficult to remove from the corpse, but great to use as acidic projectiles."

  
Kíli let out another smothered pitiful whimper and Bilbo proceeded to wonder, "And the spider legs?"

  
She shrugged a shoulder, "Decoration."

  
Bilbo nodded and quickly guided Kíli to the rolling stool near the work bench before the love struck kid fainted. "You're rather artistic, aren't you? Why would you seclude yourself all the way out here, bordered by one of the most toxic forests in all of Arda?"

  
"Opposing family opinions," she muttered with a slight bitterness on her tongue, forgoing her welding torch and shielding the side of her vision, looking to Bilbo when Bofur encouraged Bombur to use his own hot beam. "Thranddi adopted me about the same time the Vault opened a while back, I can't remember, I was so small, but he always said I was like the daughter he'd always wanted... Until I wouldn't take part in his extravagant and ever-suggestive lifestyle. The Woodland Theatre, the constant innuendo, putting myself out there as if I were just an object to be wanted and enjoyed by others," she shook her head, "I couldn't dig it. I wanted to do something with myself, something I believed in... Though work tends to keep me in a garage, I've always loved forests," she chuckled softly, a light redness coloring her cheeks, a dreamy smile on her lips, "Especially star gazing from the highest branch of the tallest tree." Her expression hardened after a few moments, "What Smaug is doing with all his drilling, killing everything and everyone, destroying the planet, the forests," she paused in her story to place a few more pieces on the E.L.K, the tank disguise already coming together wonderfully. She sighed, wiping her hand across her brow, smudging a bit of grime with the motion, "When Smaug's stopped I hope to restore the forests, especially Mirkwood, to their former splendor."

  
"That's quite noble of you," Kíli murmured from his place on the stool, the picture of smitten with his elbows on his knees and his chin perched on his fists, eyes rounded and Bilbo half expected his pupils to have taken the shape of hearts; the elder Siren contained any sound of amusement from escaping him with a quiet clearing of his throat and nodding in agreement with Kíli.

  
"It is, isn't it?" Tauriel grinned smugly and got back to work, long red pony tail whipping around as she moved with an air of grace around her project. "Another reason I came out here," she mumbled as she positioned the spider legs precisely for the perfect psychobandit morbid touch, "We grew up together, he's practically my brother, but I think Leggy has a crush on me."

  
" **What**?!" Legolas' voice squawked from someone's ECHO, "That's not -!" he laughed loudly, awkwardly, "That isn't true," he scoffed. A few quiet moments passed and his voice sounded again, admitting, "Alright, maybe just a little one."

  
Tauriel rolled her eyes as the other laughed aloud, Legolas' frequency remained silent after that. She added final touches and walked around the disguised Knight three times with a critical squint before she crossed her arms against her chest and gave a satisfied nod.

  
The four were settled in their vehicle, in the same spots they had taken upon journeying to Mirkwood's Bight, Bofur and Bombur in the back, Bilbo driving and Kíli in the passenger seat. Tauriel chose the young Siren's open window to fold her arms along and peek in, "So, I generally stay around here, take care of spider and psycho orc problems," she murmured, glancing around the interior, "But if you need anything: tips, bail money, dirt on Thranddi, you can always call me." She settled her gaze on Bilbo and he gave a nod then saw her eyes trail away from him and onto Kíli who was trying his damnedest not to stare at the Elven woman hanging on his window. His eyes were determinedly focused on the intricate white lines that curled on his right inner wrist and toward the center of his palm, lines he knew so well he could trace them exactly with his eyes closed. Tauriel smiled and reached over to nudge his shoulder, "That means you, too." His head snapped up, and her grin grew wider as Kíli's eyes did the same, "If you need anything, just call," she said again with an encouraging nod that Kíli quickly mimicked. "Alright," she laughed and thumped her fist against the outside of the vehicle, "Be careful out there." Bilbo turned the key into the ignition and the Knight dressed like a Tank roared to life. "Later, prince charming," Tauriel called over the rumble of the engine and waved as they zoomed from her garage, shouting their thanks again and quickly making their way toward the Iron Fortress.

* * *

 

  
The Ettenmoors were only a short drive away, Fíli and Bifur made even shorter work of the bandit goblins that blocked their path. The young soldier hadn't brushed up on his Khuzdul in a while but understood every word Bifur said, in a haiku or not, the problem was forming responses. Kíli was always better with Khuzdul, paying more attention in their lessons, anxious to learn, further his knowledge, while Fíli was anxious for adventure and victory. Daydreaming of the day adventure would come calling, from anywhere, any reason, he'd answer, and he'd always been sure to take his little brother along. But now they were in the middle of a war, the battle field was the planet they were born on, and they were on opposite sides of the mainland. This wasn't at all how Fíli had envisioned it, feeling useless without his other half, just because he couldn't respond to his comrade in their Dwarven tongue. He made do with short answers, small phrases he knew, and thankfully Bifur recognized his struggle and lessened the detail of his questions and statements as they drew nearer to their Bowman's - formerly of the once great Laketown - base camp location.

  
Coordinates on their ECHO map proved that they were close enough to be seen in their man's scope, which meant he'd soon try to shoot at them for a laugh, or he was passed out drunk. Fíli was about to attempt to pose a question of how they should proceed when a familiar caw pierced the air and a black streak, fast as lightning, flew across the sky. They searched all around, necks craned back, but saw no sign of the tame crebain... until Bifur looked to Fíli and gave him a shrug. The soldier tried not to snort like an amused child when the bird perched herself in the wild nest of Bifur's grey speckled mane. But his laughter won out when she pitched forward slowly until she was folded over and was nearly beak to nose with her chosen perch, staring straight into Bifur's eyes for a few long moments before letting out a greeting squawk.

  
"Blackarrow," Fíli addressed, and the bird snapped up right, and squawked again. "Don't suppose Bardy's awake?" The bird gave a flutter of her wings, the equivalent of a human shrugging, and Fíli sighed, "Then maybe you could show us the way to Ori's?"

  
Blackarrow offered another caw of confirmation before she took to the sky again, though this time considerate enough to slow down for Fíli and Bifur to follow and keep up with.

  
The Ettenmoors, a cold, dark place, commonly known as troll territory, seemed like the perfect setting for Bard and Ori to find refuge, even if Bard was only there by assignment. Handsome Smaug had touched many of the lives inhabiting Arda one way or another, some personally, some just by ill fortune. Bard had a family once (a champion sharpshooter and Vault Hunter on the side, he was teaching his soon-to-be eldest archery, since she'd found a great fascination with his sniper rifles), until Smaug decided to set Laketown ablaze. The town was in the way of his next drilling site, and if ever anything obstructed Smaug's path, death was sure to follow. Few people survived the fire, and Bard was one of them. Without his daughter and expecting wife, without his home, jobless, penniless, he was no more than a despondent vagrant. Until he found Blackarrow - or rather Blackarrow had found him, more accurately. A young crebain without a flock and a man without a reason to live, obviously the story hits an uplifting note, but the pain still lingers in Bard Bowman.

  
As for Ori, Smaug thought himself the most superior being to ever happen to Arda, but he wasn't above torturing people for information or aggressive persuasion to help his cause. The Orson family was few, but what they lacked in numer they made up for in great imperative skills. Ori was much younger then, hadn't even come into choosing his preferred skill set. Dori had already lost his marbles a decade or so before, the torture had only made him crazier but no less loyal to Durin's Day. Nori had all his original body parts before Smaug, but he was strong and resolute as he lost limb after limb, still lucid through the unrelenting pain to shout for Ori to get away while he could, to take the heavy rock Nori had given him from his pocket and pull the little pin and throw it at the goblins near the wall. Ori didn't know anything, too young to have been inducted into Durin's Day but that wouldn't stop Smaug from tearing the boy apart, whittling him down until there was nothing left but a vacant vessel.

  
Ori had felt guilty ever since. Throwing the grenade at the dungeon wall, fighting to ignore his brothers' continued screams of agony as he escaped and ran and ran and didn't look back. He felt guilty for not having information, for not having a skill that Smaug might've found useful so he could give himself over and his brothers could be spared, for running away and leaving them behind. So he kept himself far from his brothers, far from anyone, so he wouldn't cause anymore pain or trouble for anyone who might unfortunately know him. Still helping Durin's Day in small ways, but as a separate entity, so if he was ever found and captured, it would only be him, and no one else would get hurt again because of him.

  
The Ettenmoors were a dark place, a place for dark creatures and people with dark pasts. And the perfect place to derail a high speed train transporting important cargo with a couple of rockets.

  
Surprisingly, Ori had been very welcoming to the two, probably just because of Blackarrow being their guide, but nonetheless, when the situation was explained with careful detailing Ori was excited to help. Saying he had some sexy babes in the back that had been all dolled up with nowhere to go for quite some time, finally they would have their girls night out! Fíli did his best to keep his expression free of shock, astonishment, or amusement, and they all set out toward the survey point where they'd blow the bridge tracks.

  
The rockets worked, of course they did, there wasn't really anyway for them not to work, though in fact they had appeared to work too well. Fíli had assumed they'd blow the track just before the train would zoom by, the brakes would be pulled and they would board the train, grab the shit and go, but apparently their _expert_ had a different idea. The trigger was purposely delayed - as Ori explained, his hot mamas had to make a statement, had to arrive fashionably late - so when the first four train cars zoomed by the soldier and assassin's guts tightened in fear. Then Ori's previously well paced countdown from ten was a hurried mishmash of numbers from seven to zero as the rockets hit their mark. There was a gaping hole in the track, three train cars went flying, two stranded on the side of the track that was stable enough to hold their weight, the rest were hanging from the cliff's edge, half blown to bits, charred and smoking and still on fire.

  
"Shit," Fíli murmured, "Let's hope what we need wasn't damaged," he gave the young explosives artist a pointed glance.

  
But the look seemed to have no effect, rolling off the young teen with a shrug of his shoulders as he easily countered, "My ladies can't be tamed."

  
The soldier sighed, trying to keep his smirk reined in as he watched the black smoke from the wreck billowing thickly into the sky, "Alright, we've gotta move quick. No doubt that train's got an auto distress beacon for cata-fucking-strophic damage. Blackarrow, you'd better head back to Bard and wake him, we'll have to make a fast retreat once we've got the shield core and the Vault Key."

  
"Ooh!" Ori squeaked as Blackarrow took flight, gone in a flash, he tugged on Bifur's arm, "Can I come with? Can I, can I, can I? Pleasepleasepleasepl _eeeeee_ ase!"

  
Bifur looked to Fíli who just gave a wary nod of his head, "It'll be easy, quick."

  
But they should have known better, in the past few years as Smaug's power grew, his claws reaching over more and more of Arda, that things were never so simple, nothing was easy. They had thought transporting a stolen train full of refugees was the most straightforward of missions, and now only Dís remained, just barely.

  
Climbing through the train cars hanging over the steep cliff edge they reached the main area of the damage and stepped right into the final scene of Smaug's premeditated trap. They stumbled to a halt when the train car radiating signals carrying their precious cargo shook, moving enough to rattle the snow ground beneath their feet. Bifur pulled down the visor of his helmet, axe and pistol occupying his hands in a blink. Fíli was shoving Ori behind him, shouting for him to take cover while he drew out his turret and switched the safety off on his rifle. The train car shook and jumped once more, the sound of metal bending in protest, denting outwardly as something from inside jerked and jolted.

  
Azog burst from the car, metal enclosure exploding around him as he strode out into the white arctic terrain surrounded in red flame and black smoke. Fíli wondered of his brother as his stomach lurched upon sight of the monster that had claimed his father, his uncle and a great number of other innocent lives. Azog hadn't taken his mother, and he wouldn't cut anyone else's life short ever again, Fíli decided, and if that meant forfeiting his own life in the process to make sure of it, he was alright with that. He thought of Kíli, hoping he was safe, while at the same time wishing he was here to share in the revenge, as Azog's cold eyes locked with his and a filthy grin of rotted sharp teeth flashed before he was sprinting toward him and Bifur...

  
Kíli rested easily in knowing his brother was safe back in Rivendell as their disguised E.L.K. rolled up to the gate of the Iron Fortress and Bilbo laid his hand heavily on the horn. Tauriel was a master of her craft, the gate drew up, and Bilbo's foot was barely on the gas pedal as they drifted in, the gate closing down heavily after them. All was quiet in the Knight once Bilbo killed the engine and through the heavily tinted glass they could see the hefty number of goblin bandits they were to face once they stepped out of the safety of their vehicle.

  
Bofur dropped a hand onto each Siren's shoulder, leaning forward from tiny backseat, "We're in," he said with a bright grin, flexing his grip once, "We're off!" And then he hopped up to man the gunner seat, Tauriel had extracted the spider venom sacs and Bofur had modified the gun on their way to the Fortress. Bilbo and Kíli looked to each other, no longer wary, but struggling to contain their grins when from above they heard Bofur wail, "EXTERMINATE!"

  
The tattoo below Bilbo's eye glimmered first, before the rest of his markings followed, shining into vibrant white, Kíli's doing much the same as they grabbed their respectable door handles, guns in their other hands, and pushed out to join the fight.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad some of you have played and get where I'm coming from with all this nonsense. And for those of you that haven't played, I hope that it's an easy story to follow. Chapter 8 should be a big explanation chapter, concerning what's happened since Thorin and Bilbo broke up and Bilbo left Arda and Smaug's rise to power and such. And I should probably add a glimpse further into the past with the original four... Anyway! 
> 
> Bard is Mordecai, and this is me trying to be clever naming trusty Bloodwing after Bard's one and only, and just as trusty, black arrow. Crebain's are those big crow-like black birds that Saruman used as spies for Sauron. But Blackarrow must've been a runt or something and found Bard and aww wow an unlikely friendship, yay how cute. Ori is Tiny Tina! I am endlessly amused with this, and glad to have gotten the tragic past out of the way because nOPE, I don't need the emotions right now! Uhhh. I think that's it? The Iron Fortress (aka Isengard) is the Bloodshot Stronghold. Ettenmoors - Tundra Express. Aw shit, I should've said this one in the last chapter, Fangorn Forest/Entwood - Frostburn Canyon. Firehawk Lair - Bag End of Entwood. Oh! Tauriel is Ellie, Scooter's sister. Okay now I think that's all. Thanks for reading and the kudos and comments! Thanks so very much!


	8. You Are Such An Oaken-piece-of-SHIT

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A commentary of grunted and shouted creative expletives accompanied the two Sirens, the mechromancer and his bot as they made their way through the Iron Fortress dam growing closer and closer to the brig with each group of hopeful-for-glory Gall and Wormwood goblins they mowed down with bullets, fëa power, and a very protective homemade bot.

  
"Stupid mother **FUCKER**!" Bilbo howled with a particularly heavily fëa charged punch to a final goblin's face, the blow so powerful the bandit's head flew clean off his shoulders. "Ugh!" he groaned loudly, his tattoos still lit up and blaring brightly with his anger, "Kíli!"

  
The young Siren jumped at the barked call of his name and looked to Bilbo with a wary glint to his expression.

  
"Check that fucking chest for some fucking ammo!" Bilbo pointed to a locked chest just behind him and Kíli scrambled toward it, quickly opening it and taking whatever contents were inside, even if it wasn't the ammo they needed, and he continued on to any other chests, lockers or boxes without instruction.

  
"God damn it," Bilbo grumbled, "I left Hobbiton for this? I mean, what if I refused, what if I _didn't_ come back? It's a fucking wonder he's lasted this long."

  
"To be fair," Bofur said, a chuckle already tinting his sarcastic tone, "He hasn't had his eye candy around to worry about."

  
"That is pretty much what he fucking said twenty years ago; he said he had too much to focus on to give our relationship the attention it needed, and I was distracting him," Bilbo scoffed. "Well, lemme tell you," he continued with a bitter laugh, "I gave him one last taste of ' _distraction_ ' before I caught the next ship off Arda, I **_ruined_** him for anyone else, **_no one_** gives head like Sirens do!" he proclaimed vehemently. Kíli visibly stalled, his spine going rigid as he fought hard against images impulsively trying produce themselves in his minds eye.

  
"I expect it's something like a religious experience," Bofur commented, snorting.

  
Bilbo shrugged with a self-satisfied smirk, something heady from the memories making his eyelids flutter lower, shielding his widened pupils, "Made me feel like a god."

  
"Okay, ew!" Kíli cried having successfully pushed away the mental images, but unsure of how much longer he could hold them off if Bilbo kept on, he hurried back to the men with his arms full of a variety of ammo. "That's my uncle, you know?"

  
Bilbo's previous expression disappeared and he gave the teen a truly apologetic glance and murmured, "Sorry, Kíli." Then plucked shotgun shells from the pile in his arms, loading his gun.

  
"Hey, he was _his_ boyfriend before he was _your_ uncle, kiddo," Bofur flashed a cheeky grin and took half the load from Kíli's arms, loading his various guns and storing the rest in his pack. "Bom!" he chirped warmly, and the massive hovering bot - with black blood staining his deadly sharp claws - seemed to hum contentedly in response as he turned. "Care to lead us in?"

  
Bombur went before them, ripping the heavy door to the next room right from its hinge and bullets immediately started pinging off his metal form. Kíli stepped up behind him and stuck out his arm, the markings in the center of his palm bared and shining blinding white until he caught the goblin in a fëalock, then clenched his fist tight, then drew up his gun to shoot while Bombur zoomed forward to slash his claws through the bandit frozen in suspension. More goblins arrived at the sound of gunfire, and Kíli and Bofur pressed forward, Bilbo was gone from sight, appearing again with a powerful burst of fëa on the opposite side of the bandit group, shooting them all down with the other Siren and mechromancer keeping a steady stream of fire from the front before they could spin around on him.

  
This unfailing strategy kept on with the next few rooms, Bilbo's colorful curses painting the air all the while.

  
"How much fucking longer til the brig?!" Bofur called, then shouted for Bombur to fall back as he centered a barrel of slag in his sights and pulled his finger against his trigger twice, glittering slimy white exploded and coated the bandits close to it, all of them uttering sounds of disgust, Bofur kept firing until his pistol ran out and he hid around a corner to reload, sending Bombur to take care of the weakened rest.

  
"Should be the next - _ugh!_ \- room," Bilbo called back, shoving at a suicide bandit that had gotten much too closer for comfort, Bilbo shuffled back as quickly as he could, shooting the short blast grenade in the goblin's hand before he could pull the pin, trying to explode them both. "Shit!" he squawked, covering his face and turning to one side when the dark guts projected toward him, coating him in putrid smelling chunky blackness. "Fucking! Gross!" he tried to shake off the bulk of the gore and cocked his shotgun again, "Let's rescue this stupid fuck already, I badly need a shower!"

  
Of course, the brig, with its sole detained occuppant, was the most heavily guarded room in the Iron Fortress dam compared to what they had already faced. "Oh, fuck," Bilbo released an exhausted sigh and tossed three contact grenades in and shut the door after them, hearing the sound of goblins previously ready for a fight now screeching and running for escape before any of the grenades could touch them and explode. Bilbo held the door firmly shut as goblins frantically tugged at the handle on the other side; patiently waiting for the sound of three explosions before he released the door and they could proceed. One, the door rattled with the explosion. Two and three, there was still the sound of bandits within but there were likely much less standing than before.

  
"Could've given you a gravity single," Bofur mumbled.

  
"Might need those on the way back," Bilbo gave in answer and pushed the door open. And three grenades apparently didn't do nearly enough damage as one thought.

  
"Woah!" Bofur laughed as a hoard of dazed goblins converged on them, "Look out for the biggin!"

  
Bombur immediately went for the huge goblin glomping from around the corner, while Kíli, Bilbo and Bofur picked off the smaller ones. The enormous goon was tough and rough, resisting Bombur's slashing, he grabbed ahold of the bot and tried to toss him away, but Bombur wasn't even slightly fazed until he was grabbed again and forced to the floor and pummeled with large fists.

  
Bofur wasn't laughing then when Bombur let out a distressed mechanical wail. "Bombur!" he called back desperately, heart broken, then fury quickly taking over, "Kíli!" They were finished with the other goblins guarding that portion of the brig, the young Siren didn't need further order to capture the gargantuan goblin in his lock. "Go on and save his majesty, Bilbo! We've got this!"

  
Bilbo didn't doubt it, especially the with rage fueling Bofur at seeing his bot brutalized. He hurried along the wall of empty cells then turned around the corner to find three goblins standing steadfast in front the bars of Thorin's cage at the very end of the block. With a fluid motion he'd not practiced in years he switched his shotgun for his sniper and leveled each head of the bandits in his cross-hairs, one, two, three, they crumbled to the floor one right after the other while Bilbo shouted with each, "Oh! My fucking! GOD!"

  
The Siren stomped his way down the block toward the cell Thorin was in, scrambling up from his cot to press himself against the bars. Bilbo slung his sniper behind his back to accompany his shotgun, his other arm extending forward to point an accusing finger, "You!" He didn't flinch or even flicker his glance or pointing finger away from Thorin as he pulled his pistol from his hip and shot a bandit who thought he could get the jump on him but just got his brains sprayed across the floor mid battle cry. "You bastard, you - you cocking idiot!" Bilbo growled, his finger finally tucking back into his rapidly glowing fist as he reached the cell door and brought his bare knuckles down against the lock, smashing it to pieces, then pulled the door open, "You are such an Oaken-piece-of-SHIT!" he crowed and pushed right into the cell instead of making way for Thorin to exit.

  
Honestly, Thorin expected this sort of indignation from Bilbo, after the countless times the Siren had saved Thorin's neck and then promptly given him a stern talking to afterwards, he just stayed quiet and tried not to look tickled when the shorter man enclosed him against whatever available surface and gave him the verbal thrashing of a lifetime. If he was being even more honest, Thorin had missed the way those pale white tattoos glowed so fiercely when he was aggravated, amid battle or not; he especially liked it, though, when that glowing-tattoo-aggravation wasn't directed at him, like it was now.

  
Bilbo crowded him against the bars of the cell and pressed the barrel of the gun into his chest, as he hissed through his teeth, "You stupid fucking moron, I told you I had it under control, you just couldn't leave it alone! Goddamn it! I should shoot you in your stupidly symmetrical face!" Bilbo narrowed his eyes into a burning hot glare, kept his stare and the gun pressed threateningly (but without any real truth behind the threat) close to Thorin's heart for a few moments longer before he released a loud long suffering sigh and marched out of the cell, grumbling under his breath.

  
Thorin followed, if not a little slower, still banged up from the courteous treatment of his hosts, wincing and wheezing with ever left step. Bofur strolled up then, pulling an insta-health jab from his pack, chuckling lightly, "Just like old times, huh?" He passed the prepared jab and Thorin took it, a smile turning up half his mouth. If it were at all just like old times, he wouldn't have had to clutch tightly to the cell bars to keep from throwing himself at Bilbo like he so wanted to, like how those scoldings used to end. Just like old times would've meant Bilbo still fuming in anger, Siren markings still gleaming, but he would lean up on his toes and Thorin would lean down, meeting half way to let out their built up fear and aggression and relief in an urgent press of lips and caress of tongue. Bilbo sliding his fingers through and gripping Thorin's hair, the aggression still and most prominent, while Thorin's hands gently held under Bilbo's chin and behind his neck, fingers drifting along the Siren's jaw to brush his thumb against the tattoo high on his cheekbone.

  
Thorin grit his teeth, ashamed of his reverie and the heart swelling emotions that came with it, and maybe - in an act of punishment - he jabbed his leg a little harder than needed before pressing the plunger down. He felt slightly better, enough to get into a run if the situation called for it and accepted the pistol Bofur handed him. He opened his mouth to ask what the plan of action was, but from down the block they all heard Bilbo's voice echo, "Let's get the **fuck** out of here already!"

  
"Bilbo!" Thorin's eyes widened at the sound of his youngest nephew's voice, "Shook down those corpses; more ammo, few grenades, and a couple hundred bucks," the young Dwarven Siren's tone was oozing with pride.

  
"Kíli!" the call was half horrified and half berating. Thorin was now the aggravated one stomping down block, "You let him come with you! He's 17 years old! He's just a kid! This is no place-"

  
"Oh, fuck off! He's a soldier in your fucking slapdash army, I didn't fucking recruit him," Bilbo snapped back and started back the way they came before Thorin could catch up to him, but long legs meant longer strides and soon Thorin was stalking right beside him. " _You_ sent him on a train with his brother and his uncles to assassinate the CEO of The Lonely Mountain Corporation! _I_ didn't bring him into this, _you_ did! And don't try to change what's going on here, you're still the fucking idiot who got himself captured! Kíli's been doing spectacularly; actually listening to and doing as I say, unlike _some people_!"

  
"Uh, actually, I volunteered," Kíli called over the shouting, but he went unheard, as would every other little comment or noise.

  
Thorin flushed a bright shade of red, the muscle in his jaw visible as he clenched his teeth to fight against the anger, but the curse bursted forth, "Fuck -!"

  
"Oh, here we go," Bofur whispered.

  
"- You!" Thorin bellowed, then continued on in his booming baritone, "I was helping you!You couldn't handle that many on your own! Remember the time when you were surrounded and -!"

  
"That was the _first_ fucking time I tried to lure a group away! And _I_ didn't get fucking captured!"

  
"Because I was there to back you up! Ugh! You think you're just so superior and I'm just a fucking jughead, yesser commando!"

  
"Yes! Yes I do! For once in your life, you're right!"

  
"Could they - do you think they heard me?" Kíli muttered to Bofur, both of them five steps behind the feuding duo in front of them.

  
Bofur released a contented sigh and slung an arm around the boy's shoulders, "Don't worry. It's not really you they're fighting about, they just need a reason to scream at each other after all this time," he chuckled, but then his brows drew together in concern, "It's actually quite normal, in a completely unhealthy way." He cleared his throat a moment later and suggested Bombur go on ahead of the quarreling couple, just in case they were too distracted with insulting each other to see potential threats.

  
They made it back to their Tank disguised E.L.K. and thankfully by then the shouting had stopped but the tension was even thicker as the silence took over. Bilbo pulled out of the stronghold once Kíli flipped the switch controlling the gate and waited patiently for the boy to settle into the passenger seat. The tires squealed and skidded as they searched for traction before the Knight jolted forward and they were on their way back to Rivendell. All was quiet during the long drive, even Bofur kept his acerbic comments to himself and only nodded in the rearview mirror when Bilbo asked him to drive the rest of the way once they neared Moria.

  
After hours of quiet, even Bilbo startled when they arrived in Rivendell and his voice broke the deafening silence to note, "The shields are down. They're completely down. Why are they down?" No one provided an answer since no one could. They were gone the entire day, they had a lot to catch up on since arriving in HQ that morning planning a search and rescue for the failed train assassination. After a shower though, Bilbo added once they returned the E.L.K. to Legolas who gaped in amazement at Tauriel's work.

  
"Speaking of Tauriel," Bilbo murmured under his breath as he and Kíli walked behind Bofur and Bombur, Thorin leading the way, accepting praises and warm words of welcome as he passed. "Maybe you could call her ECHO, tell her how everything went, and how we couldn't have done it without her brilliant help." He nudged the wide eyed boy with his elbow, smirking, "Just a suggestion."

  
Getting a shower and aiding a boy with creating a sort of relationship beyond business seemed like a great way to end the day, an even greater way would be going straight to bed after that much needed shower. But as usual, nice things were never in the cards for them. They arrived in HQ to find Dori gone from his usual office chair muttering corner, and upstairs a number of chairs were added to the room before the command center, chairs occupied with tired, battered bodies. Óin, Glóin, Balin (up and walking, fully healed) and Dori were fussing over the injured, tending to gashes with salves that even thrice administered health jabs couldn't fix up quickly.

  
"Fuckin' hell!" Bofur gawked, "What the hell happened?"

  
"Should've gone with Bilbo," Fíli joked and laughed lightly, then winced as he brought a hand up to clutch his ribs.

  
"I'll tell you what happened!" A loud voice with a slight slur said, "We walked ourselves right into a fucking trap. Should've known." Bilbo turned on his heel, noticing Bard laid out on the sofa. "Should've known..."

  
"Azog was on the train. We blew the tracks, sent some cars flying, followed the power core's signature, and there he was," Fíli explained, waving away Kíli's fussing worry when he sat beside him. "The power core was there, but the Vault Key was just a ruse to make sure we'd actually make an attempt on the train, and Azog would be there to meet us."

  
"Did you kill him?"Kíli asked, looking between Bifur and his brother, both still seemed a little shaken, ultimately Fíli gave a shamed, minuscule shake of his head.

  
"Of course they didn't," Bard sat up abruptly, "You can't just kill a guy like Azog with two improperly armed men. We tried before - and failed - with four men, he's a tough son of a bitch. The only way we got out of there was all thanks to me, shot out his HUD so he was blind enough that we could make our escape, else these crazy bastards would've kept fighting til they were totally empty. Suicidal idiots. Just like that bomb-happy little shit, running and grabbing the power core while bullets are flying, someone ought to keep an eye on that kid."

  
"Bard, I thought -," Bilbo stopped, taking time to think before he said the wrong thing, and he would've. He was going to ask of Mattie and Sigrid, he was going to ask about him going straight - quitting the Vault Hunter business and getting a proper, respectable job. The Bard before him wasn't the one he remembered, he was a complete and total wreck, from the pallor to his skin, the dark circled bags under his eyes, new large pieces of grey in his hair. Bard was yet another victim in this huge thing that Bilbo had no clear knowledge of. He sighed, putting his fingers to his temples, "Alright, will someone please tell me who this cunting Smaug fellow is?"

  
"He's called Smaug the Terribly Handsome, or simply Handsome Smaug. Self appointed nickname, sort of douchey," Kíli was the first to offer up any information.

  
Bilbo snorted, "Sort of? That's nearly as bad as an alliance named after an age old holiday and/or saying that no one's ever fucking heard of and has no understanding among its members or enemies and is therefore a dumb title for a collective of allies."

  
"Bilbo," Thorin groaned as he brought his hands to rub irritatedly at his eyes.

  
The Siren shrugged a shoulder, "I still don't know what Durin's Day means."

  
"I told you -"

  
"You did not," Bilbo cut Thorin off, a bitter smile and laugh on his mouth, "You think you did, but you didn't."

  
"I did."

  
"You didn't."

  
"Oh lord, they're having a domestic," Glóin sighed, rolling his eyes as the pair continued to chatter with harsh tones at one another, unconsciously crossing the room and drawing closer.

  
"At least it's not like how they were before they got together. All the revolting flirting, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife, get that shit caught in your lungs if you walked through it, it was awful," Bard mumbled, and Bofur cackled loudly, agreeing with the memory from long, long ago, when they were all much younger.

  
Twenty years ago. An unlikely group of Vault Hunters met. The Captain of Lonely Mountain Corporation's private military force (Baruk Khazad), the Captain's Lieutenant, an interplanetary champion sharpshooter (with a wife and three year old he would later reluctantly move on planet), and a hesitant, little Siren punk with enough piercings and an abstract hair style to distract anyone from the eye catching tattoos that littered his body.

  
As the youngest and smallest of the group, and though averse to the mission he was hired for, Bilbo wasn't really there for glory and treasure, he just wanted some money, enough to be comfortable and stay afloat... and a small adventure to sate his Tookish side. But when two hulking Dwarven shadows were assigned to him and Bard he wondered why they needed two of Mr. Durinson's grunts following them, did he not trust them, after hiring them for a less than strictly legal job? Thorin had introduced himself and Dwalin as the security over whatever Bilbo and Bard should find in the Vault, so yes, they weren't trusted, but they were also their protection, as they knew Arda far better than them. And it was a few moments after Bilbo insulted their employer a bit more when Thorin explained he was his grandson, his smirk blooming into a full blown knee melting smile when Bilbo flushed just as red as the bright scarlet and pink of his dyed faux-hawk.

  
Impromptu fight and gun training yielded close proximity, lingering touches and glances. Then came blatant flirting as the mission progressed; until the very end, when they had become - as an entire group - much more than hired professionals, but firm friends. It was no longer just business when the Vault opened and instead of treasure an impossible alien monster called the Destroyer was revealed. No longer every man for himself, as they fought off the beast, fought to keep each other alive. They survived together, and they stayed together, taking more jobs as a team, expanding their group, and relationships - some more intimate - strengthening as the year went on... Then Thorin fucked it all up and Bilbo was gone with the briefest of goodbyes.

  
"You two knock it off this very instant! I will separate you if I must!" Dori called as he rushed over to the squabbling soldier and Siren, "So help me, I will turn this headquarters around!" And just like that any shock of Dori showing a bit of sanity was quickly extinguished, but with Bilbo and Thorin quieted down, the tale of Handsome Smaug could commence.

  
Smaug's past was a bit hazy. As far as anyone knew he was just a peon LM employee at the start. Transferred from the Lonely Mountain offices on Arda's geostationary moon to on planet programmer work - at least that's what his work file said, and that had been a hell of a difficult relic to dig up. He'd climbed up the corporate ladder by way of accidental death of his superiors, which was obviously murder, but with lack of any actual investigative police force on Arda, and Baruk Khazad quickly becoming closer and closer to his control, there wasn't anything anyone could do. Over a progression of years he was promoted until he became Thrain Durinson's right hand man. And then it all happened so suddenly, they should have seen it coming, they should have anticipated and prepared for it. Thrain was gone and Smaug took his place.

  
He likened himself to a dragon of the corporate world, of the universe - and a devilishly handsome one at that. And there came the nickname and the great idea to go under the knife to complete his incomparable image. Since taking the Lonely Mountain throne Handsome Smaug had gone through countless cosmetic and reconstructive surgeries to transform his body into something dragon like. His head and neck had undergone the most work, face fitted with auburn scales framing his face - from his temples down his jaw and neck, elegantly arranged from lush to sparse -, reptilian eyes that seemed the color of bright yellow flame, and a thin, black, forked tongue in his mouth, concealed behind long teeth filed to sharp points. The tabloid ECHOcasts recently explained his hands were in the process of healing, doctored with more scales along the tops of his hands to his finger tips where there were now black razor-sharp claws. He ultimately wanted his whole body adorning scales, he wanted a long whip-like tail, and he wanted wings. Smaug had scientists working hard figuring a way to replace his lungs and throat with something more sustainable to actually breathe fire. Less and less he looked the image of a man and more of the monster he truly was.

  
There was never a noble cause backing Smaug's reason to take over LM. In fact, the longer he sat on the CEO throne, the more, they suspected, he succumbed to the Vault Sickness that had claimed Thror Durinson. Which explained his thirst for riches, a futile attempt to satiate his sickness, mining for precious gems and metals while searching for the Vault. Though everyone, including Smaug, was well aware of what the Vaults were likely to contain since the first opening, not endless alien treasure but a massive, slaughterous alien creature of nightmares. Archived interview ECHOlogs proved that Smaug was aware, and he'd laughed and said the next creature would be even more inclined to bend to his will once he opened the Vault because of their similar wickedly handsome appearances. Open the Vault, control the creature, become the most powerful and unstoppable being of Arda - possibly even the known universe.

  
"No one can put their hands on him since he bears the CEO title, innumerable security details, oh, and since he's claimed to being a savior - the one who killed the Destroyer all those years ago - a great number of ignorant Arda inhabitants won't believe any ill word against him."

  
"Wha," Bilbo whimpered, the words of ' _BUT WE DID THAT!_ ' not needed to be said as he glanced from Thorin to Bard to Dwalin, who each gave minute shrugs of their shoulders, the response plainly coming across as, ' _What can we do about it, really?_ '. Bilbo settled with a great deflating sigh before looking back to Balin to continue.

  
"Technically he's just a place holder until the rightful heir to the Lonely Mountain Corp presidency comes forth to claim his position. But since we all grabbed our shit and high tailed it out of Erebor before Smaug could kill Thorin..."

  
"Not much of a heroic plunge if it's a definite death sentence," Bilbo murmured, glancing to Thorin who made a quick escape to the control room.

  
"That's right," Balin nodded, "The only way we can regain any semblance of peace over this planet is to steal back the Vault Key, stop him from opening that Vault. We must slay the dragon under the mountain. He's killed countless innocents, destroyed towns and cities, soon there won't be anything left of Arda if we don't do something. And what will he do once Arda is an empty, used up husk of a planet? Move onto the next one, then the next one, and the next."

  
Bilbo nodded, now understanding why Smaug was such a problem, why he was drafted into the cause, they needed all the help they could get. He startled slightly, as did everyone else, when the lights flickered and the sound of the control room's electronics suddenly whirred into silence then powered up again. GALADRIEL Systems' automated voice announced, " _City shields online_."

  
"Ah, wonderful," Óin hummed, "Nori and Ori got the new power core installed."

  
"Sorry about the power surge," Nori's voice crackled from the control room.

  
Dwalin hurried in, batting away Thorin's venturing hands from the control board before pushing a button to respond, "S'alright. Everything's just rebooting, shield capacity is at 32% and steadily climbing, we'll be at 100% capacity and stable, solidly protected soon enough, come on back."

  
"Aye," was Nori's response, and before the connection cut out they could hear Ori excitedly shouting, "Aye aye! Aye! Eye? AYYYYYYYYYY-!"

  
The two Orson brothers arrived along with two steward bots hurriedly trailing after them. "Damn all stairs, but _these_ steps especially, to the fiery pits of Mordor!" Gandalf crowed as both Ori and Nori rushed up to the second level of Durin's Day HQ. Bombur disappeared down the steps once the way was clear and not three moments later arrived back on the second level placing Radagast and Gandalf onto the floor to join the rest of the gang. "Oh, just look at all of us, together again. We should take a photo! Oh, oh dear, I'm getting nostalgic," Gandalf somehow made a sniffling sound and Radagast patted his companion's back with a metallic clank and clunk.

  
Bilbo pursed his lips to keep from smirking, while some of the others laughed aloud.

  
" _Network hacking detected_." Everyone froze at the sound of GALADRIEL's voice again, then all at once scrambled into the control room to see what the problem was.

  
"Dwalin?" Bilbo asked, hip checking Thorin out of the way to provide his assistance.

  
"I don't - I have no idea what it is. There's nothing -"

  
" _Hacking detected. Distress call incoming. Hack - distre-e-e-sssss_ ," GALADRIEL's cool tone fluctuated higher and lower, stuttering at the lowest decibel before she fizzled then stalled completely.

  
"NO!" Gandalf zoomed through the jungle of legs that made up Durin's Days best, brightest, and strongest.

  
"She's an automated system, she's fine," Ori tapped the top of Gandalf's head when the little bot threw himself against the control board, wailing pathetically.

  
"Oh, good," Gandalf immediately snapped back to normal, and others might've laughed again if their headquarters wasn't currently under a possible network attack.

  
"What's happening? If there's a distress call - someone needs help and we can't answer -," Bilbo muttered, beginning the emergency protocol procedure to rescue the system before the hacking was successful, protecting everything from a possible crash.

  
Thorin might've not been tech savvy and did well to stay out of Dwalin and Bilbo's way, but he still had his concerns, could still read live feeds and gauges, but with hands whipping across screens and buttons, he couldn't make anything out peeking over Bilbo's shoulder, "What's the status of the rest of the city? Are the shields still active?"

  
"Shields at full capacity, no signs of failing. It looks like it's just our command center -," Dwalin's words halted on his tongue, and Bilbo stepped back, hands up when everything went black. All the screens, every button, but every machine and device still whirring like the power was still on.

  
"What the hell," someone whispered.

  
All was dark for ten long seconds before the screens flickered and the holographic table switched on seemingly of its own accord. The screens flickered again before flashing to life and the Lonely Mountain Corp emblem was displayed everywhere; projected huge, floating and slowly revolving - almost tauntingly - over the holographic table. So they were hacked by LM, what did that mean, and what was to happen next? Only the latter of those questions would be answered when the logo blinked out and the blue colored, slightly pixelated generated shape of LM's AI interface took its place.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like such a terrible writer. This has all taken over the course of one day. If you play Borderlands for an hour day and night cycle like three times, but I've made all this shit happen in one day... That's terrible... Anyway. I don't believe any explanation is needed this time... Gall and Wormwood Goblins - Bloodshot Bandits. And slag is normally purple in the game, but since I switched Eridium for Mithril, slag is white and sparkly... Maybe a quick review of character assignment? Since everyone's together again.
> 
> Bilbo - {Lilith} Thorin - {Roland} Dwalin - {Brick} Bard - {Mordecai} Fíli - {Axton} Kíli - {Maya} Balin - {Salvador} Bifur - {Zer0} 
> 
> Bofur - {Gaige} Bombur - {Deathtrap} Glóin - {Marcus} Óin - {Dr. Zedd} Legolas - {Scooter} Tauriel - {Ellie} 
> 
> Thranduil - {Moxxi} Nori - {Sir Hammerlock} Dori - {Tannis} Ori - {Tiny Tina} Dís - {Helena Pierce} Azog - {Wilhelm} 
> 
> Smaug - {Handsome Jack} Gandalf - {Claptrap} Blackarrow - {Bloodwing}
> 
> [ [A likeness of Handsome Smaug](https://31.media.tumblr.com/f28a01b0734b536baefd1f5a6f44cb77/tumblr_n585ffL7Oa1r00ixgo1_500.jpg) ((fanart that inspired my Handsome Smaug's look)) and see more AMAZING fanart by [this AMAZING artist](http://brilcrist.tumblr.com/). ]


	9. I'm A Scientist, Not A Goddamned Physician!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured better safe than sorry, there's some depiction of **DRUG USE** in this chapter; **SYRINGES** and **NEEDLES** and all that sort of stuff that makes my skin crawl, but I wrote it anyway because it's relevant to the story and though it's all **CONSENSUAL** it might be triggery, so tread with caution!

.

.

Hacked and a failed attempt to cover it up with a fake distress call? Or a real distress call that was unfortunately cut off by a hacking? No one could be sure, and no one was sure how to proceed as the head and shoulders image of a pale, dark haired woman with piercing blue eyes took over every screen. Everyone was circled round the holographic table where her image was the largest and three-dimensional. She'd yet to speak, likely on behalf of Handsome Smaug, as per usual; Bilbo was the only one left in the dark, confused as ever as to what or who they were staring at.

  
"What the hell is this now? Who's she?" Bilbo asked and managed to withhold his gasp but not his physical jump of fright when the image blinked and snapped her widening gaze directly onto him.

  
"Oh shit."

  
The rest of the group scooted back in shock and astonishment with the harsh word bursting from the pixelated image. "Uhh," Thorin blinked, and Bilbo nearly jumped again at the sound of his voice so close behind him, "Well that's, um, different... She's the Arkenstone AI System Smaug implemented for LM a year or so after he took the throne. But she doesn't usually - or at least we thought most bots and AI systems weren't programmed with vulgarities," Thorin answered.

  
"I like it!" Ori commented, "It's refreshing! Let's teach her more vulgarities - ALL THE VULGARITIES! Damn, ass, boobs, fart-!" Dori spared them from further Ori-stylized interruption with a hand clamped over his young brother's mouth, but that didn't halt the noise completely as Ori continued on just as enthusiastic but very muffled.

  
" _O_ kay..." the Siren murmured slowly, the AI's eerily realistic eyes were still pinned to him with something that looked like awe and horror, "So why did she hack into our command center? Has she ever contacted you before?" Or maybe the thunderstruck expression was a glitch, she looked completely frozen - probably a glitch.

  
Dwalin spoke up, his explanation heavily on the side of irritated as he heaved a sigh, unable to regain control over the command center while the AI was present and apparently still hacking their network, "More often than not she serves as a direct communication link between Smaug and us, unless he wishes to speak a barrage of his more imaginative insults himself. But Thorin's right. Even when explaining Smaug's threats and taunts she usually makes it more... child friendly..."

  
The pixel image startled back into motion, blinking rapidly before she stumbled over her words with an uncanny human-like quality, "I - uh, sorry! I'm Arken and I wanted to help you."

  
" _Well_ , that's _far_ from what I expected after a system override and shut down," Dwalin responded, appearing the most familiar with this AI, settling his closed fists on his hips like a disappointed nanny.

  
"Your command center system is the least of your worries," she assured him in a much more cool tone, "But back to the matter at hand. The Vault Key - it was the trigger word to bring me into your HQ - it's the main object that will thwart Handsome Smaug's plan. Without the Key he's -"

  
"Wait, did you say trigger word?" Bilbo asked, stepping forward again, away from Thorin's grasping reach.

  
The AI looked less aghast than her initial response to Bilbo, but there was still a tinge of wariness there as she answered, calm voiced, "Again, the least of your worries."

  
"Uh!" Bilbo scoffed, "I don't think it's the least of our worries if a fucking _spoken word_ is all it takes for the enemy's AI to infiltrate and hack our HQ network!" he slipped through the Durin's Day crowd toward the control board, "I'm enforcing a manual shutdown, this is fucking ridiculous!"

  
"Wait! Please!" the desperation in Arken's voice did make Bilbo falter, but only to turn on his heel, the control board at his back, within reach. "You must believe me when I say I want to help! You have to steal back the Key, keep the Vault closed, slay the dragon, and reclaim the Lonely Mountain. I had a slightly possible plan to share, but I never factored in the other Siren." Arken began muttering incoherently to herself after that, eyes flickering around all parts of the room as if making calculations and dashing the ones that wouldn't work; and they simply watched on as a very advanced AI system with enough sentience to seem almost human grumbled and cursed. "Ohh, when Smaug finds out," she looked very distressed for an AI, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip, "It's not even a matter of _if_ , it's **when** , because he _**will**_ find out, he always finds out... Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. The amount of Mithril injections - t-to get this process moving faster, surely it'll - it'll, oh no. Oh _no_ , Bilbo Baggins, why have you returned to Arda?" Arken murmured miserably, eyes settled back on the elder Siren.

  
Bewildered, Bilbo's brow raised high before it scrunched back down and he glared, "Because I was asked to. Why, what's the matter? Why shouldn't I be here?"

  
"To put it lightly, it's... bad," Arken sighed onerously, then remained silent in contemplative thought for a half minute, "I, um... Alright. I'll need some time to think this over. But know this, I **am** on your side Durin's Day. With my help we can end Smaug's tyranny and terror once and for all. I -," Arken sharply halted, eyes rounding looking to something they couldn't see, obviously startled by whatever it was, "I - I have to go. I'll contact you again. I know it all seems shady, but you **must** trust me."

  
The Arkenstone AI disappeared, all the screens went black, dead, then sparked back to life, back to normal working order. Dwalin spun back to the revived system, everything was running business as usual, while most everyone else stared at the vacant space where Arken had been, and those that weren't had their eyes firmly pinned to Bilbo. The unspoken questions were blatantly obvious, thick in the air. Why would Arken hack into the network to tell them she was on their side, to tell them she'd had a plan to help them take down Smaug? Why had Bilbo's presence shaken her so? But no one seemed capable of speaking these aloud. And Bilbo couldn't stand the staring for another second.

  
"Well!" he barked, causing everyone to jump; he threw his arms into the air, muttering sourly, "Clearly I've been brought back for another reason!" He spun to the control board, but didn't reach forward to touch any of the buttons, screens or dials. "Someone needs to up the shoddy security in this place. For god's fucking sake!"

  
Silence stretched on again until Dori broke it, "D'you really think she's on our side?"

  
"She's an interface, though, can she really choose sides?" Fíli asked, and others began to skeptically mutter along with them.

  
"What if it's a trap?!" Radagast wondered loudly. To which Gandalf answered even louder with, "It is undoubtedly a trap!"

  
"Relax," Thorin murmured and aside from beeps and groaning of the machinery lining the walls quiet came over the command center again, with all eyes on their commander. It was either the exhaustion of the entire day finally catching up to Thorin, or he had some other miraculous way to remain cool during this confusing, concerning time. "It's nothing we need worry about now. Everyone's accounted for, and the night is late. Get some rest, we all need it." After exchanged glances followed by nods, the group agreed to their leader's dismissal and headed quietly and calmly for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Durin's Day headquarters wasn't exactly set up for five-star lodging; there was a line of cots downstairs, but when one had a mattress slightly more luxurious than a thin pad atop a frame of wires and springs, and small comforts of home, it was an obvious choice exiting HQ. Though some were accustomed to such hardships, even the thin pad atop wires was too soft for a soldier.

  
Bilbo had never been a soldier but the cot was like heaven for his overworked, long inactive muscles and joints, as well as the tepid water from the... well, 'shower' was a generous word of choice, but still, it did the job in cleaning him up. He wasn't so much refreshed as he was slightly relaxed and totally exhausted.

  
Bard had taken the couch upstairs, his bird perched on his stomach and nestled down comfortably; Dwalin and Balin took two bunks on one side, and Dori claimed the other bunk bed all for himself, settled on the top and his more precious data collection tucked beneath a blanket on the bottom bunk. Nori and Ori had a place to stay with Glóin. And that was all Bilbo knew of arrangements before he disappeared into the bathroom - distantly realizing he hadn't become formally acquainted with Kíli's brother Fíli, and he hadn't met Ori or Blackarrow either, but that was something to be remedied morningtide.

  
Both Gandalf and Radagast in were sleep mode, tucked out of the way near a corner of lockers, little blue power lights flashing every five seconds, something that wouldn't have made sleep escapable for Bilbo, though now it seemed a problem. But it wasn't just that, there was something else. Something -

  
"Here."

  
Bilbo sat up slowly, through the lights of blinking machinery he could see a familiar form stalking his way, boots quietly thumping as he drew closer. With eyes adjusted to the darkness Bilbo could see a steaming mug in Thorin's hand just before he presented it before him - he hadn't even heard him rummaging in the kitchenette, clearly he'd become more stealthy over the years. "Some people can't sleep without their pillows, but I know you can't sleep without your bloody tea before bed."

  
Bilbo ducked his head down briefly to hide his grin then took the proffered mug in both hands, blowing on the hot liquid. "Does everyone else receive such fantastic room service, or is this only because I've booked the presidential suite?"

  
"Everyone else doesn't require special treatment," Thorin shot back, and continued, "Few of us stay here. Bard's not got anywhere else to go. Dwalin stays close to the command center, Balin stays close to Dwalin. The boys go with Óin to the Rivendell Healing House to check on and stay with Dís. Bifur's got a place near Glóin's, has enough room for Bofur and Bom... And I stay here because it's all the home I've got right now," he explained, sticking his hands into pockets, shifting from foot to foot, unnerved to be under Bilbo's scrutiny even in the dark.

  
Bilbo had nodded along, still blowing gently against his tea, finally taking a sip once Thorin finished. It was like instant relief, the warmth and the taste. Splash of milk, half splash of cream, half a spoon and a pinch of sugar, and an even smaller pinch of cinnamon - perfect and just what he needed. He scooted to one side of the cot and tilted his head to the space for Thorin to sit as he murmured, "How sweet of you to remember such useless information," in reference to his tea, preferences met just so; sometimes Bilbo couldn't even construct his tea the right way, but Thorin had managed it after a twenty year lull.

  
"Not useless if it secures a ceasefire and peace," he groaned, though much more active, more fit, he was still an older man than his used to be, his bones still ached with the full day of labor as he took the offered spot beside Bilbo. He'd taken the elastic from his hair, letting the thick dark waves brush against his shoulders, effectively drawing a curtain to hide his face when he quietly murmured, "Sorry about earlier."

  
Bilbo's brow perked up in surprise as he tilted the mug back toward his mouth, idly wondering, "Mm, and to which part of earlier are you referring?"

  
He could see Thorin peeking through the fall of his hair carefully before he warily gambled, "All of it...?"

  
"Hm!" Bilbo chuckled in his throat, his mouth full of tea, trying not to let the smile win and let his tea spill from his lips. He swallowed and rested the mug on his thigh, "It's alright. I suppose I wouldn't know what it's like to raise a child in the midst of a war..." His tone took a wistful air, eyes cast down to the cup gently steaming, "See the excitement in their eyes when they say they want to be just like you, and your heart breaks because you would never dream or wish a life like that upon them..."

  
Thorin snapped his gaze fully to Bilbo, but the Siren had that thousand yard stare in his eyes as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. "That's... exactly..." Thorin mumbled; though Fíli and Kíli were born before the shit hit the fan, Arda was still no place for children or families or various races' life in general, and it never would be. It was a desolate place of constant danger and crime; when his ancestor and his corporate rivals who had established the company colonies on planet eventually withdrew, leaving all their employees - a great number of railway workers who were off-world convicts - they created an even more hostile planet than the wildlife and fauna already offered. Bilbo was right, Thorin always had a pang in his chest when the boys were just wee lads, gazing up in awe at him, Dwalin and their father dressed in their LM Baruk Khazad regulation uniform, keen eyes noticing nicks and defects in the armor, asking why, how, where and when that happened, earning stories of the odd jobs they'd take to restore justice more than for the bounty money, rarely mentioning the time of the first Vault opening. The admiration in their faces and voices squeezed his heart in a painful grip, especially when they said those five words he always dreaded to hear: I wanna be like you. "You sound like you **do** know how it feels..." Thorin paused, examining the Siren's form up and down before asking half joking, "Is there a Bilbo Junior running about Hobbiton that no one knows about?"

  
"Hah!" Bilbo let out a sudden bark of laughter and quickly corrected his volume as he glanced toward the ceiling then to the bots in the far corner, hoping he didn't wake anyone, "No," he whispered, a warmness reaching his cheeks as he related, "Sort of have to like girls enough to copulate and spawn offspring for that." He laughed again, quieter, and Thorin relished the joy on his face, glad to not see his jaw set in anger, brow pinched, a bold straight line pursing his lips. Head tipped back, mouth open and smiling, eyes shut and crinkled at the corners - that was a much better sight. Thorin gripped the thick metal frame of the cot to stay in place, to stop himself from surging forward and doing something stupid to ruin this relatively peaceful moment. Bilbo's laughter faded and he cleared his throat, a chuckle still lingering as he explained, "I, uh, have a nephew, as well... Turned three this year. His mother tells him the stories I've told her about my short time on Arda as bed time stories. He loves them."

  
"Such violent tales for a little boy," Thorin quipped while Bilbo took a few sips from his mug.

  
"I'm sure you regaled Fíli and Kíli with just the same," the Siren nudged the soldier with his elbow, "Surrounded by all this havoc, they probably worried, likely still worry if you'll come back to tell them a new story. Frodo didn't have to worry about Uncle Bilbo's well being... well, he might now."

  
"No, he won't," Thorin quickly countered the uncertainty of Bilbo's survival in this war so fiercely that Bilbo startled and turned his gaze to him, meeting his deadly serious visage, "I'll be sure to return little Frodo's uncle back unscathed."

  
Bilbo's stomach jumped and flipped as he kept Thorin's intense gaze, digested the sureness of his words, seated on a crummy cot in the darkness of the night. They'd shared far worse accommodations, but it was the comfort of the other that always made it bearable. When arms around each other felt like the most impenetrable armor, a kiss and whisper of love like a jab of insta-health and adrenaline, the only encouragement needed to press on when the going was tough and getting tougher. Bilbo kept his grasp solidly on his mug, dropping his eyes from Thorin's before he lunged forward and decided against his we-are-never-ever-ever-getting-back-together agreement he made with himself two decades ago the moment he stepped on the ship taking him back to Hobbiton. "Um," he squeaked, keeping his head down and eyes on the still warm liquid that occupied half his mug, "Best listen to your own orders and get some sleep."

  
Thorin stood from the cot with a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, and bid Bilbo goodnight before he ascended the steps and entered the room on the left at the top of the stairway, the 'Captain's Quarters' that rarely kept Thorin, and the bed within that even more rarely had the chance to give Thorin a well needed respite. But for the first time in a long while Thorin took off his boots, collapsed into bed and quickly succumbed to slumber; it was undoubtedly the presence of a certain Siren downstairs that eased his mind enough to give in to sleep he truly needed and deserved.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo woke the next morning to the combined unsettling feeling of being in an unfamiliar place - a place that was most definitely not his perfected, quaint home on Hobbiton - and the unpleasant shrill mechanical shriek of a robot. He sat upright on his cot before his eyes opened and scrambled to make sense of his surroundings and the reason for screams. A crebain sat on the handle of the - now open - headquarters front door, providing an exit for the two little steward bots, one of which was still squealing in delight, "Look at her, Gandalf! Isn't she lovely? Such a beautiful, intelligent creature!" Bilbo flopped back onto his cot with a groan while Radagast still jabbered on excitedly about his adoration for organic beings, fading into the distance as he and Gandalf rolled through the city just barely lit by the early light of dawn. There was no way for him to get back to sleep, but he figured he'd had enough rest - though a twinging ache still lingering in his lower back. He rose fully from his cot and slipped on his boots before making his way out of HQ, where the front door was still being help open by the bird - he was sure he'd get the story on that later, as well as the stories that went along with anything else he'd missed.

 

* * *

 

  
Thorin was the last to wake. His first full night of sleep uninterrupted by nightmares, distress calls, or excitable teens. He thought that was the finest of treats itself until he opened his door and was hit by a wave of multiple savory scents originating from downstairs. The aroma of breakfast and cheerful morning conversation lured him down the steps before he could put his boots on.

  
"Mornin', Cap!" Bofur greeted him first once he reached the ground floor and the smells roused a growl from his stomach. HQ was full again with the same bodies from the previous night, everyone perched somewhere somehow with a plate of food in hand, or seated at Dori's long desk table pulled toward the center of the floor, forks and knives clinking and scrapping to get every last bit.

  
"This is way too much food, you should sit down and have something yourself," Balin said and Thorin could just barely see around the corner of the kitchenette where Bilbo waving him off.

  
"Elrond was glad to see me, said to consider the food a gift. And he's got more than enough to spare, and the way I hear it he's always giving out help where he can. And surely you'll recall I've cooked for a number of insatiable Dwarven folk before; what's a few more mouths? So kindly shut up and enjoy."

  
"Only Bilbo," Bofur chuckled into a tall mug, taking a large gulp before adding, "Only Bilbo could manage to make such a magnificent breakfast with such little resources and this sorry excuse for a kitchen."

  
"My talents don't solely lie in the culinary arts," Bilbo retorted with a grin as he turned, passing a plate fully loaded with eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms into Balin's hands. His eyes flickered beyond Balin to extend his smirk to Bofur but then his eyes caught their final member of the company, "Ah, Thorin!" he turned and reached along the counter top, grabbing hold of a steaming mug, and maneuvered easily through the crowded room without sloshing a drop, delivering the coffee into Thorin's hands with a quick, "Black, two sugars," before scurrying back to the flaming range cluttered with hot frying pans.

  
"Thank you," Thorin pursed his lips to contain his smile at the returned gesture that must have seemed strange to everyone else, though his coffee order wasn't quite as elaborate as Bilbo's tea. He wandered - some might've described it as gravitated - toward the kitchenette with the intention to help, but would probably end up just watching Bilbo manage perfectly fine on his own.

  
"They seem to be on better terms... Did they fuck?" Thorin choked on his coffee at Glóin's idle wondering, eyes widening through his gasps and coughs when Dwalin replied, "No idea. But they were never usually quiet about it -"

  
"We did not fuck, you goddamn deviants!" Bilbo shouted above the not at all nonchalant whisperings, turning each burner knob on the stove off before picking up two plates, handing one to Thorin - choking now controlled to small closed mouth coughs - and keeping one for himself. "If we're on the same team it's best if we don't detest one another, right? We've got more important things to focus on."

  
"Right," Thorin agreed, though he was still red in the face from his coughing fit, as well as an underlying blush.

  
Breakfast progressed with more talk about Smaug and what Durin's Day has done in the past ten years since he became LM's CEO to combat his tyrannical greedy schemes. It seemed with every win they achieved, three losses preceded or followed. They just couldn't get to him, with such a small resistance against all his power; they lost many battles, but surely they'd win the war. If _they_  didn't fight back then who would? That was what spurred them on.

  
"We had an in once. But before we could even formulate an infallible plan and get Thranddi to consider killing the dragon in his sleep Smaug broke them up," Óin said, to which his brother began grumbling indignantly to himself.

  
Bilbo nearly sprayed his second cup of lukewarm tea across the long table, "Thranddi dated Smaug?!" he screeched after an abrupt cough.

  
Dwalin nodded, "The media coverage on it was uncomfortably in depth. Thank fuck for the day they split; no more shutterbugs selling photos of them all over each other to the ECHOcast."

  
"Well," Bilbo cleared his throat of any lingering drops of tea threatening to choke him, "That would've been very helpful... Don't suppose they're still in contact? Any way Thranddi could pour on the charm once more?"

  
Balin shook his head gravely, "Wouldn't if you paid him. And since Smaug knows he's in Rivendell and affiliated with Durin's Day, even the Misty Mountains isn't an adequate distance between them."

  
"Huh. Hard break up... But I know of harder," Bilbo mumbled, taking a sip from his tea and glancing over the cup to see a renewed solemn shadow darken Thorin's face. Unfortunately he felt a pinch in his gut instead of the triumph of a small victory at seeing his comment strike true. He resisted the urge to outwardly curse and tossed back the rest of his tea, lips pursed as he swallowed and set the mug down, "Anyway. Moving onto something that's been weighing on my brain. _Mithril injections_. Arken muttered something of the like, didn't she?"

  
It wasn't the smoothest of segues but there was no other way to go about it. The way Bilbo saw it there was nothing they could do with Smaug at present, they just had to wait for any radio chatter about the Vault Key since that was the main priority. Get the Vault Key back and there would be no way Smaug could open the Vault and unleash terror controlled by his hand. Key first, murder second. And Arken said she would help them, said she had a plan, though Bilbo wasn't at all trusting of an AI developed by Smaug, they could listen to what she said, and modify the doubtless trap she'd spin for them to follow into a plan where they would actually survive and win... possibly. But the way the words 'Mithril injections' had set a sizable portion of the room into a rigid state, he figured he went for the perfect change of subject.

  
Their resident medic finally spoke up after a jab to the ribs from Balin's elbow, stammering, "W-Well..." he scratched the back of his neck as he paused, playing for time, "We, uh, we know the basic fundamentals and utilization of Mithril - a power source, currency, specially crafted ammunition, but more commonly used for manufacturing high caliber armor," he ticked off a finger with each Mithril use he listed, sounding more and more wary as he continued.

  
"Yes," Bilbo responded, slightly urgent, because the trepidation that had brought the room into a hush was interesting, but now he was getting worried with all this cautious tiptoeing.

  
"Well..." Óin swallowed thickly, "Dori might have... more or less... began running some more Siren related tests and studies on Kíli. Seeing as his main subject was no longer around anymore."

  
The tattoos that were visible on his hands, forearm, nape of his neck and beneath his eyes lit up in an instant; his brows rose high on his forehead, hands folded on the table clenched into fists and released a charge of fëa causing the long table jostled harshly, plates and mugs and glasses clattering with the Siren's anger manifested. Bilbo's jaw clenched and through his teeth he bit out, "What..."

  
"A-a willing, voluntary, test subject, mind you! And it only started recently!" Kíli stood, left hand reaching out in a consoling gesture, his right hand behind his back, palm to forearm, tattoos glittering gently, prepared to restrain Bilbo if he had to.

  
"That still doesn't justify-!" Bilbo stood up from the table and paced away a few feet toward HQ's front door, shoving his hands into his hair as he cursed, "God damn it all!" His fingers clenched around the curls before releasing them and rushing back toward the table where the Dwarven people scrabbled to create a barrier between Dori and the Siren, "We're not things to be studied! We're people like you! I mean-! Could you - Dori, do you even -?! And don't think I don't see what you're doing there, young man! I'm not going to fucking attack him, alright? I'm not reckless, I'm just pissed off!"

  
Kíli bared both his palms in surrender, tattoos dulling, and the others began to unfold from their protective wall around the scientist who at least had the decency to look slightly abashed.

  
"Bilbo listen," Bofur seemed the bravest to approach him, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Dori discovered a concentrated dose of unrefined liquefied Mithril ore injected into a Siren can greatly enhance their powers."

  
"It mostly gave Kí gas," Fíli commented.

  
"Then how do you know it enhanced your powers?" Bilbo looked to the young Siren.

  
"His gas could never choke out and clear a room so quickly before," Fíli laughed.

  
"Shut up!" Kíli briefly glared in the direction of his brother, turning back to Bilbo he fixed his expression into something sincere, "The last injection of Mithril I took was before we got on that train yesterday. Aside from the _gassiness_ , it usually just effected my fëalocks, once I locked a bandit or a psycho they're immobile, but with the injection, the lock drained life too, sometimes giving a regenerative boost to me and anyone with me."

  
"Pretty fucking cool and handy, actually," Fíli murmured.

  
Kíli continued, "But yesterday... I've never been able to project a lock around myself, let alone a group, and so large, and as a means of protection."

  
"Turns out it's very addictive, though. So we don't run these tests often," Dori added, "Ordinary people can overdose after one injection; we were careful - measured doses, making sure we didn't over do it before any serious side effects emanated. Didn't need him hooked like a junkie when the ore is getting more and more rare the way Smaug hoards everything he mines."

  
"Ordinary people?" Bilbo repeated, "What level of insanity does one have to achieve to inject **Mithril** into their system..."

  
"Desperation to escape reality," Nori answered with a shrug, sparing Bilbo and everyone else the mental image of the hopeless and rash junkies he'd seen injecting all sorts of drugs into their eyes, necks, and thighs just for a bout of peace from the hell Smaug was turning Arda into.

  
It was quiet for a long moment as everyone watched Bilbo nod slowly, understanding. "Okay," he murmured quietly, "Okay," he said again with more conviction, "Let's see how it effects me."

  
"Uhm!" was the only sound offered in response (by Thorin) when everyone stood gaping at the elder Siren - aside from Dori who gleefully shot up from his seat and scurried toward his work station corner, shuffling around papers and ECHOrecorders, muttering to himself.

  
"C'mon!" Bilbo offered in an attempt to wipe the horrified expressions from their faces, and from the corner Dori let out a sound of triumph, walking back to toward the impromptu dining area, rolling his chair across the floor with an ECHOrecorder, an empty syringe, capped needle, and a vial of thickly sloshing white liquid that glittered like diamonds, settled in the seat. "If it mostly gave the kid gas what's the worst that could happen with me?"

  
"So glad you're finally inclined to further my Siren studies for the sake of science," Dori grinned as he took the supplies from the rolling desk chair's seat and gestured for Bilbo to sit. It was the most civil Dori had ever been toward Bilbo and it was very discouraging.

  
"Right, for science," Bilbo muttered dubiously as he sat and pushed his rolled up sleeve further up his left arm, the more exposed the decorated flesh with ever-connected pale tattoos like elegantly etched script of a long lost language became the more his bravado began to lessen. "How long does this usually take?"

  
"Instant," Dori answered as he hit the record button on the ECHO.

  
"Oh g _o_ od," Bilbo quickly cleared his throat to mask the high tremor that had slipped, "And what should I do to test it?"

  
"What you would normally do in Siren mode. Throw a punch, go invisible, and I shall record our findings." And Bilbo felt justly concerned seeing the scientist jab the needle into the vial instead of the doctor, though regardless of who was performing the injection it was still an injection of a dangerously potent drug of which questionable enhancement was the hopeful outcome. Bilbo watched as the syringe filled, his throat and tongue going heavy and dry as it stopped at the 25th milliliter mark and Dori pulled the needle free from the vial with a wildly satisfied look in his eyes. He flicked the tube and pushed any air bubbles out as he conversationally said in the direction of the ECHOrecorder rather than to Bilbo, "Now, factoring age, weight, height, and a full stomach, this dosage shouldn't kill you even slightly."

  
"Shouldn't?!" Bilbo and a number of Durin's Day echoed back, then Thorin stepped forward, imploring, "Dori, wait-!"

  
"Don't worry, Durinson, you're boyfriend will be perfectly fine," Dori slapped Bilbo's arm in what was a poor play at reassurance as he was truly trying to bring forth a vein closer to the surface of the silvery white marked skin, and neither Bilbo or Thorin had time to deny the comment about boyfriends when the scientist pressed on, "Though he's not as spry as Kíli he makes up for it with years and years of power control."

  
"Okay, so I'm old _and_ I might die. Great!" Bilbo spat out bitingly, tattoos flaring bright with his anxiety. This had all seemed like a good idea moments ago, but now he wasn't quite sure. Enhanced Siren power would undoubtedly be beneficial in a fight against any opponent, but especially against Smaug; he steeled his resolve, curling his fingers around the arms of the desk chair, taking measured breaths through his nose to slow his frantic pulse.

  
"Bilbo-" Kíli stepped around his uncle to crouch down in front of Bilbo, likely to tell him he didn't have to do this or to give him the encouragement he needed, but it was cut off before it could begin with Bofur calling above the collective murmurings.

  
"Uhh, should we really be doing this inside HQ?"

  
Dwalin scoffed, "And what, risk the lives of the refugees instead?"

  
"Oh, their lives are already at risk here!" Bofur shot back, "I'm just saying there's _a lot_ of expensive of equipment in this place that we've procured over the years and it ain't gonna be easy to replace if Bilbo has a power surge or something."

  
"He can control it, he's fine," Dori assured, nudging Kíli aside as he hovered over Bilbo's arm, flicking at it bitterly, "But I would encourage you all to take a step back anyway. Safety first and what have you."

  
"Oh right! Because a **_step back_** is all it takes to save us from a Siren blast!" Fíli laughed incredulously.

  
"He's not a bomb! He's not going to explode! _I_ didn't! And don't even start with the gas thing again, Fí!"

  
The uneasy din of the others became a roar, indistinguishable shouts, one right over the other, and it was doing absolutely nothing to ease Bilbo's nerves.

  
"Bilbo, you don't have to do this!" Thorin begged in earnest.

  
"But he already agreed!" Dori practically whined as he glared at the red mark he'd successfully produced in the junction of Bilbo's arm but failed to bring forth a good vein.

  
Bilbo shook his head, brow crinkled with uncertainty, a crooked grin on his mouth, "I said I would do this, and I think I must try!"

  
"Outstanding! The courage of Hobbits!" Coming from Balin it sounded equal parts praise and condemnation.

  
"Dori, do it!" Bilbo nodded adamantly with as much boldness he could muster.

  
"What are we going to do if he dies?!"

  
"He's not going to die!"

  
"No, wait! Don't-!"

  
"Do it!" Bilbo shouted over the objections.

  
"Administering Mithril injection to Siren subject at approximately 1100 hours."

  
"Ow!" Bilbo yelped and leveled Dori with a look of hateful disbelief, trying his damnedest not to move to throttle him, "You just stabbed right through the fucking vein!"

  
"I'm a scientist, not a goddamned physician!"

  
"Dori, don't!" Thorin besought desperately.

  
" _Aaa_ nd plunger down." And Dori was right, he wasn't a doctor, pushing the plunger much too quickly, urging the liquefied ore into Bilbo's body and pulling the needle out without any finesse; he hastily stepped backward toward the crowd that had fallen quiet, waiting and watching.

  
"Bilbo!" Thorin made an attempt to rush for the Siren when his eyelids fluttered closed, his body went rigid and the arm rests of the chair cracked under his grip before he slumped, head falling forward, but Fíli and Dwalin held him back. But their hold on him wasn't needed a few moments later when he was stunned into complete stillness, eyes widened and jaw slackened in awe with the others as they saw a hazy whiteness emerge from and surround the Siren.

  
Bilbo's head lulled, rolling left and right until he managed to tilt it back, showing the tattoo beneath his eye shining blindingly. Eyes closed and the rest of his tattoos flaring brighter than ever before, he muttered in an enraptured whisper, " _Oh_ , that feels-"

  
Just as the white glittering haze around Bilbo was beginning to take the shape of what looked like fully expanded wings, there was a bright flash, and the desk chair was empty. The only sound the arm rests groaning from abuse, little bits of plastic falling and clicking against the floor until someone murmured,

  
"...Where'd he go?"

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So turns out I'm not a bad writer because Pandora has 90-hour days, so all those chapters could justly happen over the period of one day, so that's nice, huh?  
> Also implementing a few quotes from The Desolation of Smaug in this chapter. Good times...


	10. Everything's Gonna Be O-Fucking-Kay

.  
.

"What the fuck was that?!"

  
"Is he even here?! What the hell happened?!"

  
"Thorin! Where are you going?!"

  
While the others were squawking in utter disbelief at what they had just witnessed Bofur enlisted the younger ones help in upending every piece of furniture in search of Bilbo; Dori was excitedly talking into his ECHOrecorder; and Thorin was sprinting up the stairs. He grabbed his boots from the floor of his quarters and haphazardly pulled them on as he descended the stairs again, paying no mind to the misstep he took on the third to last step, praying in his short time away he would see Bilbo amongst them again on the ground floor but there was no sign of his reappearance amid the still-raging chaos.

  
"Is he invisible or did he just evaporate?" Dwalin's voice boomed in question to Dori, but the scientist just shrugged before dissolving into a peal of giggles.

  
Bofur and Kíli were opening each washer and dryer door and peeking inside, as if the Siren were small enough to fit in there, like Ori who was half way in one, shouting and struggling to climb further in while Nori and Fíli struggled to pull him back out.

  
"Dwalin!" Thorin clamped a hand on his lieutenant's shoulder, "Get upstairs, I need eyes searching throughout the city, establish contact with Gandalf, Radagast, Greenleaf-"

  
"You think he _teleported_?" Dwalin interrupted. Going from place to place in the blink of an eye wasn't so much a far fetched idea since the Fast Travel Network was added to Re-Stor stations all over Arda - if one's DNA was on record to be deconstructed and reconstructed from one location to wherever one chose. Even anyone not on record could hack the network just to take a quick jump from one side of the world to the other. The theory that Bilbo disappeared in a blinding flash of wings and popped up someone else on Arda with Siren power alone? That was a harder pill to swallow. Sirens were powerful, and as it was presently proven, they could become even more powerful with the right additives, so it was a possibility, but one they couldn't be sure of until they actually found Bilbo.

  
Thorin guided Dwalin through the crowd and to the foot of the stairs, running a ran through his hair he belatedly wondered where he'd left his hair tie before answering with a shrug, "I don't know, but he's not here anymore, is he? So we've gotta start searching; everywhere."

  
He clapped his hand on Dwalin's shoulder and made to leave, but halted when Dwalin murmured, "Did you see the look on his face? And the wings? Kí's first hit wasn't nearly as drastic."

  
It'd been a terrifyingly awesome sight. Bilbo appearing to take the form of some unearthly god, and Thorin tried his hardest to ignore that unforgettable blissed-out expression on his face, the times he had been the one to put that look on Bilbo's face instead of a potent ore turned drug of unpredictable effects. He shrugged again, offering out assumptions because that's all he could do concerning the medical or scientific side of this mess, "Different Sirens, different powers, different effects." He stepped away then, swerving around rushing bodies toward the exit.

  
"Where are you going?" Dwalin called as he reached the door.

  
"To look for him! Radio the others in case he managed to jump beyond Rivendell!" Thorin broke into a jog into the city and could hear Dwalin's voice barking loudly from HQ, 'Listen up! Everyone grab their ECHOdevices, comm links on, and split up! I want reports on each clear part of the city! Go now!' Any further instruction faded as the Thorin put more distance between himself and Durin's Day Headquarters.

  
Though Thorin was seen as a fearless leader, a just king whose right to the Lonely Mountain Company presidency was stolen from him, tactful, smart and strong in his endeavors to manage peace into a peaceless world, he was foolish enough to let his feelings for Bilbo cloud his mind and ratchet his pulse into a frantic cadence.

  
So nonsensical were his thoughts when he woke that morning that he'd completely forgotten many years had passed since the first Vault opening and they were at war with Smaug. Now, as he sprinted through the bustling city, he could remember similar instances when his heart beat was thunderous with worry where Bilbo was concerned.

  
First sight of the young punk he'd barely even noticed he was Siren, too distracted by bright colored hair, and too many piercings than should've been considered attractive; but Dwarven people weren't strangers to body modifications, and Thorin had begun wondering about other piercings obstructed by clothing, wondering if his mouth concealed a studded tongue before the kid had even introduced himself by name. It was after mentally shaking away the inappropriate thoughts, and physically shaking Bilbo's hand, when he noticed the Siren markings, and he could gratefully place the blame of his thoughts on the unconscious allure Sirens tended to give off... some of the blame, at least. Bilbo looked no more than 16, though that was likely due to his short stature, and he hardly seemed the material for the Burglar position his grandfather had hired him for. But then there was that saying about books and covers but Thorin couldn't be bothered to remember it when soon Bilbo was as sharp a shot as Bard, with his fëa power just as strong as Dwalin, and moving like a ghost through the battlefield, killing off one bandit after the other, after the other, after the other.

  
He couldn't place the exact moment when he'd fallen in love with Bilbo Baggins but it was a safe bet that Bilbo had had a loose hold of his heart from the very beginning. Before and after the Vault they had talked about the future, where they would go, what they would do until it was Thorin's time to take the CEO spot of LM, and that was probably one of their many first mistakes. They couldn't plan for the future if everyday they kept putting their lives on the line hunting down bounties or liberating towns from bandits or searching for hidden alien treasure. Every night Thorin tried to hold Bilbo closer, though they were as physically close as two people could manage, he always kept trying, fearful of that night being their final night, his last chance to hold Bilbo like that, feel his chest rise and fall with easy breath under his arms, the electric warmth of his skin... Three days after Bilbo returned to Hobbiton Thorin knew his actions were best for the both of them. Bilbo was off-world, he was safe from the horrors of Arda, Thorin had broken his heart so if Thorin should die Bilbo wouldn't mourn for him, it was best this way.

  
Thorin had forgotten all of that when Bilbo had swerved through the crowd of Durin's Day's best to give him his coffee, nearly poised to lean down and drop a grateful kiss on his lips until conspiring murmurings choked him back into reality.

  
Now he was running as fast and as hard as he could, dodging citizens and huffing apologies as he headed straight for Legolas' garage. Gaining so much momentum he could barely slow to a halt when he entered the garage and called out, "Have you seen him?"

  
Legolas spun around from his work bench with widened bright blue eyes, "No, Dwalin's just-" he gestured to his ECHO, "I mean, what even-"

  
"Keys!" Thorin barked, and Legolas scrambled along the work bench to toss him the pair to the Tank disguised ELK without fight or question. He was roaring out the garage and toward Rivendell's gate. Thankfully Beorn had been contacted or else Thorin would've rammed straight through the gate if it wasn't opened.

  
"This is why," he grumbled to himself, keeping his foot flat on the gas pedal, eyes scanning every bit of terrain he passed, making Rivendell look smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror. His knuckles cracked clutching the steering wheel so tightly, "This is why I didn't want to bring him back here. But Dís fucking insisted! And of course she would put her goddamn life on the line just to win an argument. Of fucking course!" He growled as he took his foot from the gas, decreasing in speed as he reached the fork in the road at the Misty Mountains, and decided on going south as he bellowed, "FUCK!" punching the wheel causing the horn to honk while he crushed his foot down again, hitting the boost as though added speed would help him find Bilbo faster. Irrational, unaware of the sheen of sweat on his skin and his blatant waste of fuel, he was obviously still very much in love with his Siren, probably had never fallen out of love with him. The question was if Bilbo's feelings toward the soldier were rekindled, reciprocated, if he was just as stupid for Thorin as Thorin was for Bilbo.

  
  


* * *

 

  
After three hours every shop, residence, crack and crevice of Rivendell had been swept through and confirmed Bilbo-less. Thorin, though still very riddled with fear, had the mind to bring the disguised ELK to a slow crawl rather than rocket speed as he searched left and right along the road. With Dwalin's report he responded that he hadn't found any sign of him either - yet - and he was heading south along the Misty Mountains. Dwalin understood and said he would send out others to search north. Kíli had called Tauriel's ECHO and she was sifting through the Mirkwood Blight, and Fíli sent out a heavily coded ECHOcast meant for their comrades in Ered Luin. Almost all of Arda was on the look out for their misplaced, extremely-high-on-Mithril, Siren Hobbit.

  
Two more heart clenching hours passed, reports coming up empty, and Thorin was beginning to wonder if Bilbo had managed to zap himself off planet, or if he had actually died in that flash of light and all their efforts were wasted and worthless. If Bilbo _had_ died, if that was a Siren's version of an overdose, Thorin's knuckles clutched on the wheel were just as white as Bilbo's markings - he was going to **_kill_** Dori. He cranked the wheel when he reached Moria's gate, choosing to make use of the old tunnels to cross the Eriador Divide instead of going over top so he could continue further south toward the Shadow Thief's Bag End.

  
The journey through the tunnels was made longer with the heavy infestation of goblin bandits and orcish psychos blocking his path, but he managed to resurface unscathed on the other side of the mountain after mowing through and using up a sizable amount of the ELK's ammo. He realized only then that fuel was getting low and he had been worried so stupid enough to leave Rivendell without any weapons aside from what the ELK provided. He brought up his ECHOdevice to check out the map for any nearby Mount-An-ELK stations, one hand on the wheel, eyes mostly cast down, glancing up every few moments as he waited for the map to process his request, but then he did a double take and slammed on the brakes and cut the engine. He could've broken the door right off its hinges in his haste to get out of the Knight when he saw a small figure in the distance coming from southeast.

  
He wasn't sure what he was doing - well, obviously sprinting toward Bilbo - but unsure of what he was going to do once he reached him. He'd probably get a fëa boosted right hook across the face if he tried to kiss him, but he was really so relieved that he thought the punch might be worth it. But then he was stumbling to a halt, not far off he could see Bilbo waving his arm, then a blink and the Siren was right in front of him, smirking coyly. He caught his balance before he skidded right into Bilbo, who was filthy, skin stained with dirt, blood and grass, looking slightly beaten but no worse for wear... and shoeless.

  
"I teleported." Was the first thing Bilbo said, and through the grime and blood Thorin could see partial darkness beneath his eyes, but that could've been attributed to lack of sleep, as could the somewhat crazed look in his eyes.

  
"Yeah. Saw that. Well, part of it," Thorin nodded, and again he didn't know what to do in a situation like this. Dealing with Kíli had been much different, easier, since the boy had stayed stationary with his enhanced fëa, and Dori hadn't botched the fucking dosage. His fingers curled into his palms, unsure if it would be okay to reach out to Bilbo, brush away the layer of dirt, survey his body for injuries - damn, he should've grabbed some insta-health jabs! "Are you alright?"

  
"Yeah. Me? Totally fine," Bilbo nodded, "Just... strange. In one place one moment, blink and then somewhere else, kind of unsettling."

  
"Where did you end up?"

  
"The Pools of Lórien Forest. Nearly fucking drowned, I **literally** popped up five feet under water. Don't know why or how, I wasn't really thinking about anything once the Mithril was pushed in... Must've been something to do with the memory attached to that place. Good memories."

  
Thorin nodded gently along, he knew those memories, those memories that invaded his dreams and made lonely nights into lonely uncomfortable nights. He was pleased to see a blush add some color to the pallor of Bilbo's skin beneath the muck. "So not much control over it?"

  
"I've been trying, managed short distances, wasn't sure about trying to get back to Rivendell. I'll get the hang of it. Best we walk back to the ELK or should I try and give it another go with a passenger?"

  
"Yeah, let's walk. Don't want to over exert yourself," Thorin took the chance with putting an arm around Bilbo's shoulders to guide them back to the Knight, he'd report back, they'd find a Mount-An-ELK station and refuel and head straight back to Rivendell.

  
"That wasn't all Dori had, right?" Bilbo asked once they were settled in the vehicle, just as Thorin connected with Dwalin in HQ. His gaze met Bilbo's, going from narrowed in confusion to rounded in concern, and he was sputtering to answer Dwalin. "I-I mean," Bilbo piped up again once the conversation ended and Thorin started the Knight, "It was a terrible first test. One for the records, yes, but I had no idea what was going to happen, what to do. Next time around will be better regulated."

  
Different Sirens, different effects, and different tolerances. Thorin quirked his mouth into a small smile and nodded, "Yeah. Next time will be better." He shifted into drive and they were back in Durin's Day within two hours. Dori was pestering Bilbo with questions and he answered them all to the best of his abilities, unsure sometimes, recounting that he might've blacked out a few times.

  
"But you're okay, right?" Kíli asked for possibly the fourth time since Thorin had reported he had Bilbo.

  
"Yeah, yeah, totally fine, perfectly fine, if not better than before," Bilbo answered. Bilbo always had that snappish yet somehow polite at the same time way of speaking, but this wasn't it, the Mithril had effected him in a much different, much greater way than it had Kíli. Thorin had noticed but didn't dare raise his voice, he just took a seat on a cot - Bilbo's cot - and threaded his fingers through his hair, holding his head aloft by his palms and staring to the floor, consequently finding his lost hair tie between his booted feet.

  
Just last night he had conversed with Bilbo, and now he was a strung out, corrupted version of that Bilbo. Bringing Bilbo back to Arda had been a terrible idea. A new guilt joined the twenty year festering guilt already eating at him from the inside working its way out.

  
"Hey." A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he jerked his head up to see he and Bilbo were the only inhabitants of HQ's ground level, dully he could make out voices upstairs, but not nearly as many as their had been that morning. He looked up to the Siren who had that shy grin crooking up one side of his mouth, "Y'okay?"

  
It all seemed so unreal that Thorin couldn't contain the abrupt chuckle bursting from his throat, "Am _I_ okay?" He laced his fingers together and looked down at them, shaking his head.

  
"I know what you're thinking."

  
"What, are you psychic now too?"

  
"Shut up," Bilbo retorted, and it felt right again, if only for a moment. The Siren sighed as he took the spot beside the soldier on the cot, the same spots they had occupied the previous night. "This isn't going to get out of hand because I won't let it, and you won't let it either... Right?"

  
Thorin glanced at Bilbo, he felt ridiculous and stupid knowing his love for him would never fluctuate, always too much, much like every other feeling he felt toward Bilbo - irritation, concern, happiness. "Yeah," he agreed, "I did make a promise that the little Baggins would have his uncle back in one piece, didn't I?"

  
"You did; and I know firsthand you're a restlessly determined fool."

  
"Thank you... I think."

  
And for a few moments - Bilbo would've made a hasty explanation heavy with complicated scientific terms about shifts in gravity - they were both quiet and soft smiles and unconsciously leaning toward each other. Bilbo blinked and jolted away and off the cot like he'd been shocked when their shoulders brushed, scrambling to regain his confidence and grace, he stuttered, "I, um! I was just - Kíli's waiting for me out by the city's shield generator with Beorn, he wants to talk about Siren stuff, uhh... I just wanted to make sure you were okay, make sure you understood that none of this is your fault."

  
None of this was his fault? Right. Even if he lived to be 200 years old he'd never be able to convince himself out that. If given enough time for thought he could manage a reason to blame himself for the unstoppable natural destruction of Aulë-1, even if he was only nine years old at the time. The planet was evacuated just in time, no lives lost, just relocated to the other six Dwarven planets of the Dwarrowdelf System that still remained. Somehow he could place the blame on himself; somehow it was his fault when his grandfather moved them all on planet to keep a closer eye on his flourishing business on Arda, his fault that -

  
"Hey!" Bilbo snapped his fingers in front of Thorin's face, a spark of fëa emitting from his finger tips and fizzling in the air before Thorin's nose, yanking him out of his thousand yard stare. "I know that goddamn look. It's not your fault your grandfather succumbed to Vault Sickness, we've been over this, so don't even start with that shit."

  
The soldier breathed out a sigh, half blessedly thankful and half begrudgingly thankful for Bilbo bringing him back to the surface. Damned bossy, sassy, scary, wonderful Siren.

  
"Now I'm off to have a heart to heart with your youngest nephew. I suggest you do the same with your elder one, he went to Glóin's to work on his turret. None of this moping shit," Bilbo muttering sternly, and a finger pointed to him just as strictly, "No more, alright? Everything's going to be o-fucking-kay. We're going to get back the Vault Key, we're going to get you back on your stupid fucking CEO throne, and we're going to save the fucking universe. You know why?" Bilbo hadn't broken eye contact with Thorin, even as he began stepping backward along washing machines, lockers and re-positioned desk tables, toward the exit, "Because the Burglar's back, bitches. And he's got some newfangled powers."

  
Thorin snorted as Bilbo spun on his heel and took his leave. Bilbo had an annoying recurring tendency of usually being right - _usually_. Maybe they'd actually make it out of this, maybe they'd be okay.

 

* * *

 

  
"But what do the tattoos actually mean?"

  
"I don't know, they're just a side effect of being a Siren, probably."

  
Kíli visibly deflated with the ambiguous answer. The very instant Bilbo had showed up outside the gates of Rivendell he unleashed an unending spew of questions he'd undoubtedly stocked up since the day he realized he was a Siren. Bilbo quickly told him to slow down and ask him one at a time as he had a glance over the neatly installed shield core. ' _LM Co._ ' emblazoned on the core, he rolled his eyes and weighed the pros against cons of taking out the core and leaving the city open to enemy fire while he tinkered at its innards and plucked out whatever added tech had allowed the AI into their command center by way of trigger words. He figured the risk of having the city defenseless for an indeterminate amount of time was too great, and resentfully reentered the city with the young Siren trailing after him.

  
"Look," Bilbo stopped and placed a hand on Kíli's shoulder, "We are mysterious as mysterious can get, which is exactly why Dori is so adamant to study us. But we're still people, people that are just a little more... **gifted**... than everyone else. There's no explanation as to why there can only be six of us in existence in the universe at a time, no explanation as to why or how those six are chosen, or for what purpose..."

  
Kíli looked even more crestfallen and Bilbo's heart thudded sharply, he squeezed his hand on the boys shoulder regaining his gaze after his saddened eyes had fallen to the pavement beneath their feet. "But I will tell you every speculation I've heard about Sirens from my home planet when I was a kid, and I'll tell you what else I've heard and learned when I lived here on Arda. And you can do what you like with that information." And that seemed to brightened the boy's spirits greatly. Being a Siren, let alone the first and only one of his race, had to have been tough, far more confusing than going through puberty and with no credible medical explanation to help him understand.

  
They leisurely, seemingly aimlessly, strolled through the city while Bilbo relayed all the theories - some more plausible than the majority that tended toward a crackpot persuasion - and Kíli avidly absorbed every single word. When Bilbo was younger, his tattoos just beginning to show up (at age six - comparatively, Kíli quickly noted his had arrived and he began scratching at them at age seven), past the paranoia of contracting a flesh-consuming skin disease he had an understanding what they signified, knew stories that said more often than not Sirens were of Hobbit race. He hadn't really been bothered with it, just accepted as it was. Kids in school either marveled or teased him about his tattoos, spreading ridiculous rumors that Bilbo caught an alien virus, that all his hair would fall out and his tattoos would cover his whole body, he'd grow a tail and unhinge his jaw and devour them all... And though that sounded like a fine idea when it came to the bullies, he didn't pay it any mind, even if it lost him some friends, but if they were ignorant enough to believe it he didn't feel bad about going invisible and 'haunting' them along with the taunters.

  
There were no records of past or present Sirens, so there was no way to know if one Siren died the next Siren that was born inherited their power, or if it was something of rebirth. Six Sirens were dotted across the universe, it was a rare thing for one to encounter another, and there was absolutely no evidence that genetics were involved, Bilbo and his cousin seemed to be an isolated incident.

  
Each Sirens tattoos were different, each Sirens powers were different - but again, there weren't any solid facts that proved whether or not powers were recycled after Sirens died.

 

"When I came here Dori literally jumped me and would've stripped me naked if it weren't for Thorin and Dwalin and Bard - just to get a clear look at my tattoos."

  
"Did the same to me," Kíli chuckled bitterly, "My mother slapped him upside his head and told him consent is key."

  
"Clearly the message didn't stick."

  
"He's a work in progress," the younger shrugged.

  
"Right, well I let him study my arm for a bit, I'm sure those inane mumblings are recorded on an ECHO somewhere, but I distinctly remember him saying - before I had to yank my arm away when he asked if he could cut a square of skin to preserve for further study - that they took more the shape of script than a random design of splotches and lines, and he'd seen writing similar to the marks once when he was ' _the brightest teen archaeologist of his age_ ' at dig sites in the Undying Lands... Then Bofur guided him away before I could punch him in the face."

  
Bilbo had hardly been paying attention to their surroundings until he was following Kíli's lead, marching up the steps toward the Healing House of Rivendell.

  
"I thought we could visit Mom," Kíli explained with a shrug as they pushed through the front doors, "You've met her, right? I mean, before?"

  
"Yeah," Bilbo nodded, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat as Kíli easily navigated the halls, "She was about your age when I met her. And Frerin-" his throat tightened, emitting a squeak and he cleared it quickly, "He was nearer to Ori's age."

  
Up three flights of stairs they reached the top floor and twisted through more hallways until finally Bilbo could see two guards stationed outside a door, both of them standing at attention when Kíli approached and gave them a short nod before proceeding into the room, Bilbo trailing closely after. Kíli shut the door and took the chair that was positioned on the left side of the bed, gesturing for Bilbo to take the right, likely where Fíli usually took his spot beside Dís.

  
She was hooked up to a number of machines, one dosing her with pain medication on a timer, one drip meant to keep her nurtured, a tube down her throat helped her lungs inflate and deflate with breath, another device kept her pulse as a constant comforting background noise, and some others that Bilbo wasn't sure of their purpose but knew they were essential to keep her living. He could see bruises where she wasn't bandaged, but she still looked like the young excitable girl he'd befriended all those years ago. Time had been kind to her regardless of what the stress of raising children usually came with, and raising them on Arda no less, amidst a war. Or perhaps she looked so young and peaceful only because she was asleep, placed in an induced coma to spare her from the intolerable pain. He could imagine her greeting him joyfully, loudly, brown eyes wide and sparkling - eyes that he now realized Kíli had inherited from her. He looked to the boy and saw Dís's eyes, but not happy and crinkling at the corners from her constant bright grin. A smirk pulled at the side of his mouth remembering the time he asked both Dís and Frerin how they could possibly be related to their stern and stoic elder brother when they were regularly exuberant - Dís had said he just needed to get laid and he'd be slightly more chipper.

  
The memory dissipated when Kíli spoke, "I think she likes the company, likes to hear us talking," his fingers carefully arranged an errant dark wave behind her ear. Bilbo felt that lump in his throat again at the sight of such gentle care in Kíli's touch. The most significant and initial reason a younger Bilbo had left Hobbiton in search of adventure was to distract himself from the sudden and then-still painful lose of his parents the year before; he wondered if his mother had held onto life a little longer and survived if he would've ever gone to Arda, how different would his life be. Kíli sighed and sat back in the hard plastic chair, both his and his brother's bodies probably accustomed to the unforgiving discomfort the chairs, given how often they stayed with Dís. "She'd prefer it if we were chatting of what we're up to rather than stuck to her bedside crying once she wakes."

  
Bilbo nodded, all he could do lest his voice betray him completely and he ended up a sobbing mess across Dís's slowly rising and falling stomach. He gave up trying to get comfortable in the chair after a few moments of shifting. He waited a few minutes, counting the beeps from Dís's machines, until he was sure he had control over his voice before he quietly said, "So, um, we were talking about tattoos and trying not to punch a handsy Dori in the face?"

  
Kíli perked slightly, moving his saddened glance from his mother to Bilbo, "Oh yeah! So, Dori thinks there's a connection between Sirens and Mithril and Arda. Something about the ancient beings that lived here eons before the rest of the universe was created. They were like gods - Valar, he called them - and uh, he said that they hid beneath the earth, taking their Mithril with them, and created deadly creatures to litter the surface to fend off the others curious life forms that started populating planets in near by galaxies, should they travel here."

  
Bilbo's brows crinkled together, "That sounds far more coherent than what usually spills forth from that genius pest."

  
"It's a loose translation."

  
"Ah, I see," Bilbo's expression relaxed into a grin, "Glad someone can make sense of his nonsensical-often-offensive babblings."

  
"Someone had to step up to the task," Kíli shrugged with a grin of his own, proud, "Anyway, about a year back, I listened to one of his old ECHOjournals from when he was digging in Aman before it became the worst Blight on Arda and from what I could understand he theorized that Sirens might have originated from the Valar people he believes are the original race of Arda. And the tattoos are from Arda's first form of written language; the Valar spoke the words and they imprinted on a Siren's skin. The part where it got less conceivable and weird is when he said that if the Valar suddenly appeared again and spoke the supposed words written on us Sirens we'd transcend into a god-like form and do their bidding or something. And then proceeded to call us the Harbingers of the Last Battle."

  
"Well," Bilbo's jaw snapped shut, unaware that it had fallen open in the first place; that was the first he'd ever heard of that idea, "Better than being called a defective," he chuckled and Kíli gave a tight smile in return. Clearly he'd given it more thought that Bilbo ever had, so he had to ask, "What do you think?"

  
Kíli's actual age reflected in his next motion that was a full body shrug before he slumped into a slouch in the chair with a little pout on his lips; in that moment he looked like the confused, vulnerable teenager he really was rather than the soldier he acted like the rest of the time. "I don't know. Stuck awake at night thinking and after what we've talked about sometimes I feel like I know less and less. On occasion I give up and believe it's all just chance, random. Other times I'm convinced it was a careful selection by some higher power, maybe even the Valar like Dori says. They foresaw that we would do something great with our granted power, and we've got like - like destinies to fulfill or some shit, you know what I mean..." he laughed. "But then I think if that's true how much were ' _ **They** who selected us_ ' regretting their decision when watching younger me getting a handle on my fëalocks and spending most of my time trapping Fíli when we played or if he was mean to me. Probably not at all what they intended this gift for."

  
"Hm!" Bilbo muffled his laughter behind his lips, "Probably didn't intend for me to use mine to sneak out at night, or scare the living daylights out of Bofur. At least we're not severely abusing our power, right? And I," he paused, considering, then gave a nod, "I guess there must be a reason Mithril can heighten our power... Dori might be onto something... But let's not tell him that, don't need to further inflate that already enormous ego."

  
"Inflate his ego?" the young Siren snorted, "You just agreed to the idea that we're essentially children of ancient gods that have the potential to bring the end of days!"

  
Bilbo rearranged his face into a regal and slightly bored visage before he sighed with a put upon air, "I am prepared to bear any title that would strike fear into the hearts and souls of mere mortals."

  
The teen outright cackled, "Oh, my god!"

  
The elder's expression cracked, amusement slipping through as he jokingly answered, "Yes, my child?"

  
"Bilbo!" Kíli somewhat scoldingly called his name as he clutched around his middle, completely lost to laughter.

  
.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me as I wrote this that Dori's batshit musings could imply that the alien monsters in the Vaults might be the Valar that hid under the earth of Arda millions of years ago... If you believed in that sort of thing... (SPOOKY!) 
> 
> So this chapter had a lot of feelings! But also some talk on Sirens! Though Sirens are still shrouded in mystery! But uh... yeah. Theories and junk. Oh, and the Siren tattoos look like Tengwar - Fëanorian Characters - and how I envision it, when they light up it's like when Gandalf put the One Ring in the fire and then Frodo could see the inscription. Yeah. I think that would be so cool. Sorta sloppily written words over half their bodies... So cool. Probably one of the main reasons I started writing this, ha!
> 
> ANYWAY! I really really appreciate the kudos and the all the LOVELY COMMENTS! So glad you're all enjoying this - probably not as much as me because I'm a total spaz, but the fact remains! We're all enjoying ourselves here! Thanks a lot!


	11. That Dwarven Shitbag

.

.

  
The act of falling asleep in odd places at any time of the day was nearly on par with impressive special skills, like: a 99% gun accuracy, and life-saving improvisation. And it generally improved with age. Thorin was close to the professional grade of unintentional impromptu naps, though in his defense the majority of the morning and afternoon had been spent stressing over the well being of one misplaced Hobbit Siren. He had sat down at Dori's work station with the intention of recording a new message to any survivors seeking refuge from Smaug's vicious, unrelenting exploitations or any Baruk Khazad still loyal to him looking for an out to come to Rivendell and join Durin's Day. But then distraction struck hard when shuffling through the recorders for an empty one, he saw Dori's newest ramble labeled ' _Hobbit Siren + Mithril - > Teleportation_', and he remembered where Bilbo said he'd zapped away to after the injection, then was whisked away by memory.

  
The Pools of Lórien had been a favorite spot of theirs when they were together. They'd stumbled upon the quiet little hideaway by accident during the journey to find the Vault Key and the location of the ' _alien Vault carved into the side of the mountain_ '. They kept it secret between themselves, agreeing to visit it again once the business with the Vault was finished - what they had anticipated would be a simple treasure hunt and claim that nearly costed them their lives and the lives of every other oblivious inhabitant on Arda. Unsung heroes of an undeserving planet. The Pools were an even more blessed sight when they found them again, all their worries behind them, they could finally relax and enjoy each other. Kissing on the waterside, toes and feet submerged in the clear cool water, only the gentle sounds of nature surrounding them, with an occasional gasping breath. The Pools held many memories, more often used as a safe haven away from business, or a reward after successful and tiring jobs.

  
Thorin's eyes were unseeing in a thousand yard stare, but with each blink he remembered the sight of clothes, armor, and weapons on the bank, the sounds of splashing water and laughter, the feeling of swimming, kissing, teasing - his breath shuddered from his chest like a heavy punch to the gut. He remembered how careful and gentle Bilbo had been with him; how he hadn't laughed but smiled adoringly when Thorin haltingly explained that he'd never actually - w-well what it was was that he'd lacked the time a-and the interest until Bilbo came along. He'd witnessed firsthand what that Siren was capable of, those tattooed hands that could kill in a number of ways, he knew the exact amount of blood that was on those hands, but when they were on him he never felt so safe and secure or dizzied blind with pleasure.

  
"Holy fuck!"

  
Thorin startled out of his doze, noting just how stuffy the room felt as flashes of the memory still lingered in his mind's eye, luckily the lighting was dull enough that the glaring blush that painted his face, cascaded down his neck and settled hotly centered on his chest couldn't be seen. The previous dull throb of arousal was mostly replaced with embarrassment as he realized he was nearly caught daydreaming by the very star of his reverie; Bilbo hung on Durin's Day front door frame looking as similarly wrecked as Thorin felt. Another lucky break, thanks to his unintended power-nap, he looked bleary rather than caught in the act - the mark on his cheek where his palm had held his head aloft did wonders to plead his case.

  
"I just spent the last four hours talking about strictly theoretical Siren shit with Kíli in the company of Dís and eventually Fíli. I don't know about you, but as someone who shot up for the first time morning and for the rest of the day has been in and out of consciousness, I could really use a drink."

  
Thorin's chuckle came out as mostly a snort, he suppressed a yawn as he replied, "Me too. Don't have anything here though."

  
Bilbo sighed as he detached himself from the doorway and moved to lean against the desk opposite of where Thorin was, "Of course you don't. You're a professional. But I know a place that does. Come on," he tilted his head toward the doorway, though he didn't make any move to leave, waiting until he was sure Thorin stood up to follow.

  
Thorin sat back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, trying and failing to look not amused, though he prayed he didn't at all look as hopeful as his weightless swooping stomach felt. "Where're we going?"

  
A single brow rose up Bilbo's forehead to give the perfect incredulous look before he answered, "Thranddi's, of course." There was no other place in Rivendell that sold beer, wine, or strong spirits; probably the only place in Arda that had alcohol where one wouldn't get their head immediately blown off... probably. Bandit bars were vicious places, but sometimes Thranddi had a temper as well.

  
"Uh. Are you sure? I mean, Thranddi- and you're a Siren," Thorin stammered, his cool visage had evaporated as he sat up when Bilbo made the suggestion.

  
Bilbo's other brow climbed to meet the other, now more astonished that incredulous, maybe slightly curious, "My being a Siren has never been an issue before..."

  
"That's because you're never aware of your affect on others. Once you've started drinking and there's the club atmosphere-"

  
The Siren cut in, slightly horror struck, "Oh, god. What do I do?"

  
"You dance," Thorin shrugged, and by the look of horror dropping Bilbo's face into something more incredulous again, he explained further, "You basically ooze seduction. I used to have a hell of a time keeping weak-minded creeps away from you.

  
"Well!" Bilbo hopped off the table and marched to the door, "Looks like you'll have a hell of a time again. Now that you've mentioned it I could use a drunken dance, too. C'mon, let's go, let's go!"

  
  


* * *

 

  
Thranddi's Bar wasn't so much a bar as it was a place for misdeeds and adultery... and you could also get a drink. The Bounty Board was just outside the bar, and once inside the bar one could find themselves agreeing to other jobs with even better rewards. Gambling, sex, and booze, and if one stumbled into the right darkened corner they could get as high as the Lonely Mountain moon base in a matter of seconds, for the right price. Really, it was surprising that Elrond allowed Thranddi a place in his safe haven city; both Elven people but very opposite in character.

  
So given their history with Thranddi, Thorin was justly concerned as they walked to the bar. Just the other day when Bilbo arrived he'd expressed his worry about Thranddi and his general extremely forward advances, but obviously the great need for a drink outweighed the trouble he'd receive in numerous innuendos.

  
Surprisingly though, Thranddi seemed so startled with Bilbo's appearance that he actually spilled the drink he was mixing.

  
"Aw, hell," the host cursed, "I'm all wet," he groaned just as Bilbo and Thorin approached the bar. "I mean-! You saw, I spilled a drink. Not because it's been a long time and I'm so pleased to see you, Bilbo - I am pleased to see you, **very** , but good god I'm not _that_ easy."

  
"Nice to see you, too," Bilbo laughed over the ground thumping bass of whatever remixed song was blasting through the sound system, while he pulled a few bar napkins to help with the mess. Once all was clean and dry again, the drink remade for the customer, Thranddi turned all his attention to the Vault Hunters... well... Bilbo; he spared a short glance over the top of the Siren's head to give Thorin a friendly grin, and if his eye twitched into a wink it was purely accidental.

  
Thranddi's hands were braced on the counter top, but he dropped to his forearms to reach a closer level to Bilbo, tossing his long blond hair over one shoulder before he grinned brightly, "So. How may I service you?"

  
"Ale," Bilbo answered with a jut of his thumb over his shoulder where he knew Thorin was retreating away from the bar, if the gruff sound of his irritation was anything to go by. "And wine," Bilbo ordered for himself as he clambered onto a bar stool, "And, uh, drop a shot of whiskey in for him. Think he needs it."

  
The host chuckled and plucked out a couple glasses from beneath the bar, "You got it, laes." He fixed up Thorin's first, put it on a tray and sent one of his scantily clad staff to deliver it. "Now for wine, what're we going for, miquelis? White as the souls of the virtuous, red like the blood of your enemies? Or... that would be more black, wouldn't it...?"

  
Bilbo perched his elbow on the bar and laughed behind his hand before waving vaguely, "I don't know. Something old, something fruity, something that'll get me drunk quick."

  
Thranddi paused, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth with a narrow eyed expression of question, "Okay, are we still talking about wine, or are we talking about me?"

  
"Wine! Please! Thank you!" Bilbo collapsed on top of the bar, head cushioned by splayed arms. When the touch of cool glass nudged against his fingers he opened his right hand and accepted the slim stem and drew his head up high enough and long enough to take an unhurried first sip before falling back down. "Oh!" he chirped and found enough strength to sit up probably, unlike a blacked out slob now (though that's what he was aiming for within the next few hours), and sipped again, "That's lovely."

  
"One of the last few bottles from Laketown," Thranddi gave in short explanation before stepping away to fill more drink orders and chat up the clientele in hopes for more tips.

  
Bilbo contained himself from snapping the wine stem between his fingers. _One of the last_. Laketown wasn't the best of little settlements on Arda, but it had thrived in its own way; and they had Bard as their mascot of sorts, a lot people were campaigning for him to become the new Mayor - or did they call it Master? - of the town, last Bilbo heard. He wanted to ask what ever became of that, but surely any talk of what Smaug had taken from him would... Well, when it came down to it he really shouldn't ask at all, though with the way Bard drank it seemed unlikely he could remember his childhood or what happened a week ago let alone the demise that had claimed his family and town. But Bilbo completely understood, so... Best not. The Siren downed the rest of the wine in one full-cheeked gulp and was grateful that the host had left the bottle within his reach. He poured with haste, nearly filling the glass to the brim, hardly noticing the tingling on his tongue and the back of his throat, or the amplified thrum of his pulse. After the second glass things seemed slower, but just as vibrant and loud, and it was wonderful, Bilbo wasn't thinking of anything at all - not of the numerous towns demolished, not of lives lost, not of Dís severely hurt and unconscious. He upended the bottle and poured, and what couldn't fit in his glass he deposited directly into his mouth, lips sealed tightly around the bottle's mouth and taking every last drop it offered.

  
"Waste none." Bilbo heard Thranddi's voice laugh, and Bilbo leaned over the bar to pass him the empty bottle, as he replied with a slight slur, "You're damned right."

  
Properly tipsy and steadily headed towards drunk, Bilbo decided to pace himself with the last glass, actually savoring the flavor, but mostly because he didn't want to fall flat on his face when he eventually dismounted his bar stool. He swigged and sipped leisurely, spun around on his stool with his back to Thranddi and his staff shuffling back and forth behind the bar, his elbows leant back on the counter top as his eyes lazily and dizzily took in the bustling crowd.

  
Between the ever-changing color lighting (currently settled on a calming blue green), the loud music, and cramped conditions, the atmosphere was pleasant enough to lose oneself in. Drinks in hand, mouths open and talking, grinning, kissing; bodies dancing, hugging, shoving. The darker corners, shrouded in shade where the light couldn't quite reach, lewd behavior going unseen, unnoticed. Bilbo was nearly tempted to stumble into a corner to see what was going on, just for a laugh. Hazily he remembered empty conference rooms, chem labs, tech labs, and bedrooms of princely proportions where one would guide the other by the hand, one would push and shove the other into the room, or a hand would blindly grasp for a door handle while eyes were blissfully closed and mouths were otherwise occupied. All just for an intimate moment alone, a fleeting moment, but a brief moment that was worth it all the same.

  
Stupid Thorin with his young, practically virginal, scandalized face when Bilbo would suggest a quick screw in a utilities closet; Thorin making Bilbo burst into laughter when he'd respond with 'But my bedroom's just a few floors away'. His eyes unconsciously began to skim the crowd, as he recalled that telling blush that would color their cheeks, the rose tint tending to stay longer on Thorin's face after they emerged from whatever room in which they'd hastily sated their desires.

  
His stomach that had started to flutter with the recollections quickly dropped like lead when he remembered Thrain Durinson's office - the throne room, they'd like to call it; he had been so excited, so glad that Thorin was taking part in Bilbo's exhibitionism eccentricity (having only just recently managed to get Thorin less shy around reflective surfaces during _the act_ \- mirrors and Bilbo going invisible while they fucked just concurrently fueled and fulfilled something for him). But as Bilbo was jokingly berating him for being a sick fuck, pulling him toward the large and somehow formidable desk, Thorin stalled his advances. He put some distance between them, slowly making his way toward the desk chair as he explained that that desk and chair weren't just ordinary office furniture, the Lonely Mountain Company was one of the biggest names in the universe, one of the main companies that worked hardest in making Arda the prospering planet it once was - that desk and chair is where all the decisions were made, the serious business. The 'throne room' is where it happened, when Thorin ended their relationship because Bilbo was a distraction he couldn't afford to have when his time came to take the throne. The rest of that tale is obvious - Bilbo, too angered to be brought to tears, yells hurtful things and makes a quick retreat from the planet via shuttle. But not before letting his fury get the best of him, shoving Thorin into the desk chair and dropping to his knees and proceeding to suck the silvery blue color from Thorin's eyes through his dick, one last time, just to make him regret his decision for the rest of his stupid life, because they sure as hell were going to see each other again.

  
Yet here he was. Sat at Thranddi's bar within Rivendell, on Arda, working alongside the dumb bastard that broke his heart to help him save his family's company, as well as the planet and known universe from a dragon-like villain.

  
Bilbo hadn't even noticed his angst-ridden grumblings until Thranddi's voice broke him free of his memory, "You know... my son and I have a wager," he said with that drawing way of his that had people hanging on his every word, in addition to a finger trailing along the exposed tattoos on Bilbo's elbow and forearm, he found himself half way turning away from the crowd, though his eyes still avidly searched for that Dwarven shitbag.

 

"Oh really?" Amusement oozed from his tone, "That already sounds like bad news."

  
The tip of Thranddi's finger was still tracing and Bilbo was only half aware and half listening. "He thinks because he's younger you'll be more inclined to follow him to his bed... I don't think so."

  
How could that stupid Dwarven bastard be so hard to pick out from the masses, he was nearly a head taller than Bilbo, he and Dwalin were quite tall for their race actually, so why was it so damned difficult to find him again?! "You don't, hm?"

  
Thranddi's ghosting touch finally reached his wrist, and swirled over the top of Bilbo's hand before carefully turning his palm to face upward where his flirtatious tracings began to tickle as he drew aimless lines and shapes with no tattoos to follow. "No. I think you fancy yourself an older gentleman."

  
The Siren was lucky and glad that he had the bar as a barrier between him and the host, lucky that Thranddi had _some_ modesty and hadn't gone so far to start sucking Bilbo's fingers into his mouth (that _had_ happened once, it had only lasted one and half seconds and Bilbo made Bofur swear on his life that he wouldn't tell Thorin or **_anyone_** about it). Bilbo hadn't even noticed that they had been speaking lowly in Elvish until he snorted abruptly, nearly startling himself with his sudden amusement as he laughed aloud, using the Westron tongue again, muddled with a slur, "Hah! Well if y'see any gentlemen 'round here, lemme know."

  
Burned, Thranddi withdrew his touch, though his tone didn't give away his offense, "Ouch." The host perched his chin on his hand and sighed as the Siren turned back toward the crowd, never giving up his curious, nearly anxious search. "Ah, so it was the Soldier and so it always will be the Soldier," he muttered, and Bilbo made a noncommittal sound in his throat that amplified into his glass as he sipped. Thranddi's nose scrunched in disgust as his eyes started to sift through the crowd as well, "I'm going to be honest, it's both tragic and annoying how stupid you two are for each other."

  
"Shut u _p_ ," Bilbo retorted, addled enough by the drink to add an extra childish pop to the end, before tipping back the rest of his glass and effectively consuming an entire bottle of wine by himself (though if impressive feats of consumption were in question, he could've easily put away another bottle on his own before passing out. Physical movement and coherent speech would be out of the question, but still, he could do it).

  
"You know... While you were gone... Thorin and I-"

  
Bilbo nearly choked, running the risk of spraying the last swallow of perfect Laketown wine all over the bar as he spun around in his seat to bellow heatedly at the Elven host, "YOU DID NOT!"

  
Thranddi raised his hands, palms bared in surrender, a clearly amused smirk twisting his lips, "No, we didn't. I just wanted to see how you would react, and you did not disappoint." A chuckle had ebbed into his words, but a full blown laugh shook through his chest when Bilbo outrightly glowered at him, redness from the drink or embarrassment from showing his hand colored his face. Bilbo spun back around waiting for Thranddi's laughter to fade, and almost felt an odd swoop in his gut when he heard the host almost dreamily admit, "Wish I had someone like you looking for me."

  
He was so annoyed. Mostly with himself, but he wanted to blame someone else, everyone else. So annoyed at his suddenly low alcohol tolerance, annoyed at this bar, annoyed at Thranddi, at these club-goers, at this planet, at Smaug, but especially at Thorin. Ugh, that man. He needed to free his mind all over again, but instead of resorting to more booze, he was going to stagger his way to the dance floor... wherever that was.

  
He spun back around to the statuesque blond, too fast it seemed, his eyes attempted to keep up, giving him double vision for a moment and he struggled to settle on one image of a tickled Thranddi, "Tell you what'm gonna do. I've polished this glass off, now'm gonna go'n have a dance and a mingle. And sucks t'what _**he**_ says 'bout m'Siren allure. S'been twenty years since I've last had a date, maybe I'd like some attention, hm?"

  
"Mm, I can't promise to keep my hands to myself if the desire becomes overpowering."

  
Bilbo waved blindly behind him as he slipped off the bar stool, "Don't worry about it."

  
Outside the sky was dark, most Rivendell citizens and refugees were making their way home, but some meandered toward the twinkling innards of Thranddi's Bar, the constant thrum and thump of bassy music guiding them, luring them in like moths to a flame. Inside, the place was packed, and still more people were stepping through the threshold. People looking to drink and forget, people looking to distract themselves from the war and pain with a good time, if only for the night. That's what Bilbo sought to do. Only two days back on Arda, caught up on all the distress and woe that has befallen the planet, he needed a moment - just a few hours to unwind and let loose. The next day he would be back in true Vault Hunter mode... after the hangover passed, that is.

  
Right now he let the alcohol guide him, let the music move him. Countless faces blurring together recognized him and clapped him on the back as he swerved through the crowd, the few he could put a name to were among Durin's Day - Fíli and Kíli among a group of young people, Bofur sans Bombur chatting with Legolas in a booth. All he wanted to do was get to the dance floor, but it seemed like he'd walked a mile just uttering slurred greetings and apologies as he stepped through the standing drinking and talking patrons. He wondered how many times he must have gone in circles until he saw Thorin with a bunch of citizens and refugees practically groveling at his feet, a relaxed slouch in his posture, eyes heavy lidded, and an easy smirk on his mouth - Bilbo had been right to request that ale with a shot of whiskey for him, as the man was comfortably drunk. He was speaking to them, but lowly, in a gravelly murmur that would entice the group to lean forward, Bilbo knew what that voice could do. Velvet voiced, loosened inhibitions Thorin could charm the pants off anyone if he wanted to, but it was only ever Bilbo's pants that couldn't be removed fast enough. Bilbo felt his jaw clench when a particularly leggy brunette delivered another drink into Thorin's hand and received those hooded eyes and his knuckles brushing against her cheek in thanks, as well as a fiver tucked into the pocket of her apron. The girl was blushing hotly, hands pressed to her face as she passed Bilbo on her way back to the bar, and he loathed for another to feel the warm flush that had regularly painted his skin so long ago. But it didn't matter! They were broken up, for twenty years now, both over it, though brought together for a common mission again, they were focused solely on the task. So Bilbo resolutely nodded in agreement with himself that he was not jealous, and he could get anyone in this bar just as easily as Thorin, if not easier. In fact, there were two Elven men (quite honestly the most gorgeous Elven men of Arda) who were ready to bed him at the drop of a hat if he gave one of them the okay.

  
He shoved all those thoughts aside, or tried to at least, and found himself merging into the jumping, bumping and grinding, drinkless but buzzed crowd. He didn't know the song, he didn't know these people, and he didn't give a damn. The music was loud and just as intoxicating as any liquid that passed over the bar. It didn't take long for Bilbo to find the beat and keep up with it. Every now and then someone would bump into him but he didn't pay it any mind. Every now and then he'd search for Thorin, see if he was still smirking and flirting - not that it mattered to Bilbo, because he was having a great time on his own too. Songs faded into each other, beats and sounds changed but they all easily changed their tempo to keep up. Soon Bilbo found it harder to find Thorin in the crowd, soon the occasional bump wasn't occasional or accidental. Several pairs of hands groped at his hips, waist and shoulders, a single pair would've been fine, but this was too much. Urgent fingers tugged at his shirt, desperate to see more Siren markings glowing dully like invisible paints under black light in the club lighting. More fingers pulled at his clothes, delved into his curls, and again, the attention would've been fine if it were just one person, maybe two, but with hungry hands and crowding bodies multiplying, it was quickly becoming an uncomfortable smothering situation. Thorin was right, the bastard, he'd always been a buffer between Bilbo and the crowd, this is what he'd been guarding him from. Going invisible wouldn't do him any good, he couldn't escape with so many hands clutching at him, bodies wedged close to his. Overwhelmed by the numerous sensations, he couldn't tell the difference between the feeling of hands, lips, or tongue on his skin, and he was coming to terms with dying this way, figuring it wouldn't be so bad, probably better than a hail of bullets... though less noble.

  
But then, with the lighting fading away from purple into pink, the suffocating atmosphere began to lessen, less and less bodies crowded Bilbo until he felt himself being hefted against the side of a solid body, whiskey tinged breath uttering beside his ear, "You fucking moron, you would've been content to die like that just to spite me, wouldn't you."

  
Numbly, he felt himself walking, not sure where, or how - likely due to the arm keeping him upright, holding almost all of his weight - he heard 'Fuck off' a lot, and didn't realize he was out of the bar until he was half way back to Durin's Day HQ. "Hey," he slurred, "Hey, what happened? I was having a good time, you prick."

  
"You were going to be molested to death. I made a promise, remember?"

  
Bilbo grumbled incoherently under his breath for a few minutes until he started to shove Thorin's arm away, assuring him that he was totally fine to walk on his own, though amid his convincing he began pitching to the side as if the planet's gravity suddenly shifted. Thorin righted him again, keeping him supported regardless of Bilbo's aggressive reassuring.

  
Bilbo swayed, remaining upright was a real hard trick after Thorin deposited him on his cot. He nearly gave in to tipping over, but then a hand landed on his shoulder keeping him steady, while another held a full glass of water in front of his face.

  
"All of it," Thorin grumbled. Bilbo took the glass, a slight glare in his eye as he looked up at him, gulping carefully. Thorin didn't remove his hand keeping Bilbo upright until he saw half the glass emptied and still going, "Go to sleep," he said and shuffled toward the stairs to make the hazardous march to his quarters.

  
Thorin rubbed at his temples as he slowly took the stairs one at a time, he could already feel the impending headache he was going to feel the next day, regardless of the water he had chugged down before getting some for Bilbo. Bilbo, the stupid idiot. Seeing him basically getting mauled by lust-driven drunkards at the bar was not the greatest of sights, it was something he used to prevent, and having bared witness to it, he never wanted to see again. He'd kept an eye out for Bilbo the whole, oddly comforted that he had spent most of his time talking with Thranddi at the bar. He glanced toward the bar again and Bilbo was gone. Small, but seemingly easy for Thorin to pick from the crowd, as if his eyes were magnetized to the Siren. The careless way his body moved, the roll of his hips, those bouncing honey curls, of course anyone would be enchanted, but with that added Siren glamour, it wasn't long until others were getting closer to him. Thorin felt an ugly curl of jealousy in his gut at the sight of strangers hands all over Bilbo, but that was quickly shoved away in place of fear when he couldn't see anymore of him the more people converged.

  
"Such an idiot," Thorin murmured, and he wasn't all that sure of who he was talking about then. Finally reaching the landing of the first level, after what felt like climbing the fifteen flights of stairs it took to get to his father's office instead of taking the elevator, he grabbed the door handle to his quarters, turned it, and bodily shoved the door in and shut it with a loud click behind him before flicking on the light.

  
For a few sweet moments he thought he was dreaming. Maybe he hadn't made it up the stairs, resorted to just curling up on a few steps and falling asleep, or maybe he'd taken a backwards tumble and knocked himself out, either way he wouldn't have believed that there was a Siren poised in a drunken seductive yet so casual pose in his bed if he hadn't known that Siren could now teleport.

  
Residual Mithril lingering in Bilbo's system aided him to make the small leap and frantically clamber onto Thorin's bed before the soldier conquered the troublesome stairs and entered his room. Bilbo played coy, "Oops..?" hoping this wasn't crossing the line, though he couldn't properly recall when and where that line had been drawn. Relief spread through Bilbo when a grin cracked Thorin's face and he let out a laugh.

  
" _Right_. 'Oops'," he chuckled and staggered toward the bed, "You'll understand if I don't find that very convincing."  
"Wasn't meant to be convincing," Bilbo huffed as he let his pose go to lie flat on the bed, definitely not more comfortable than the cot downstairs, but wider, and with more pillows... that smelled like Thorin.

  
"I forgot you get chatty when you're drunk and tired," the soldier mumbled under his breath as he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to rid himself of his boots, sighing in relief as each clunked loudly to the floor.

  
"That is very much correct," Bilbo blinked lazily up at the ceiling, and heard the shifting of fabric, feeling like a hot faced teen again he couldn't stop his eyes from watching Thorin slide the starchy Baruk Khazad standard issue Captain's jacket (worn and stained from years of use and combat) off, watching those damned deliciously muscled shoulders and back shift and roll beneath his t-shirt. Bastard, still in shape after all this time; Bilbo had exactly 'let himself go', but he definitely wasn't a twenty year old Vault Hunter anymore. He almost resigned to pouting until the jacket came away completely and he saw color on the skin of Thorin's arms. He gaped, and nearly broke off his jaw completely when the t-shirt was peeled away to show even more markings. He found his voice again after a tiny squeak escaped his throat, "Holy shit! Before I left you had a whopping grand total of _one_ tattoo and now you've got a second skin of ink!"

  
Thorin froze, yet again reality hitting him like a sucker punch to the solar plexus, the drink had deluded his perception, the situation felt so normal and comfortable he'd forgotten Bilbo had left, he'd forgotten the tattoos he'd accumulated over the years, he'd forgotten Bilbo wasn't accustomed to them, he'd forgotten they weren't together. The first tattoo he had done was when he was 16, the astrological Khuzdul symbol for Aulë 1, on his bicep; he was glad as he got older that he hadn't been stupid enough to get a skull or a bleeding rose, or a combination of the two (ahem, Dwalin), he could gladly live with what he'd chosen for the rest of his life.

  
His second tattoo came a week after Bilbo left, he just sort of picked a Dwarvish phrase and had it etched into his skin, a different sort of pain to distract himself from letting Bilbo go. And they just kept coming, most of them were Khuzdul (old phrases, some even haikus that Bifur had orated at one time or another that he rather liked), some were works of art (salvaged childhood drawings of Dís and Frerin's that reminded him of home, and Fíli and Kíli's toddler art that was so visually striking and interesting he immortalized it in his skin, and a more recent surreal piece by Kíli's hand). It wasn't as though every bit of skin was covered like Bilbo gushed, he had patches of skin to spare; it was just a shock considering he'd only had one and now he had... numerous. They had done their intended job though, a good distraction... When he considered it now, he had more ink on his skin than Bilbo had Siren markings. A look in the mirror would show him images and words dripping down his shoulders to his arms, pieces starting at his hip and crawling up his ribs. Very abruptly he realized his tattoos followed the same route in where Bilbo's marking were situated. Subconsciously he had visually replicated the being he missed so terribly. He cursed his subconscious, mentally calling it a slew of unsavory things for sneakily betraying him this way. All thoughts came to a swift halt when he felt warm contact on his back.

  
Bilbo's eyes hungrily took in all they could, there was so much going on, contrasting styles and colors, it was all so much and he wanted to hear every story that went with each one. Without any real thought he reached forward to rest his palm against a swirling piece beneath Thorin's left shoulderblade, only realizing his mistake when he felt the body clench solidly under his hand. This would proceed one of two ways, Bilbo could remove his hand, apologize and make a quick escape and wallow in embarrassment for the rest of the night, week, month, however long this damned journey would take... Or, it would go the obvious but highly unlikely romantic novel kind of way.

  
Before Bilbo could make the choice and make a break for it, Thorin relaxed and leaned into Bilbo's palm like a touch-starved cat. Shit! Bilbo wasn't some damned damsel, he wouldn't fall for this, this wouldn't make up for - for - uhh. He propped himself up higher on his forearm when Thorin glanced over his shoulder, those stupid bedroom eyes (he'd been jealous that any other person in the bar had made contact with) were settled on him. He was done for, surely; Thorin was muscly, bearded, long haired, inked and so, so gorgeous; Bilbo couldn't not, right?

  
That was the sign, right? To keep going? Bilbo sat up a little taller, his hand hadn't moved, and with the way his cheeks steadily flushed a little darker. Eyes stuck on Thorin's until he became too sheepish under the steely, unrelenting gaze he changed his sight to his mouth, which seemed a tripping step backwards, he quickly met Thorin's eyes again. He almost wanted to chuckle, or smirk, but he couldn't, he didn't want to interrupt what was happening, or what he hoped was happening, a pass to kiss Bilbo.

  
Thorin carefully shifted around - Bilbo's warm palm never falling away - until he was in a more or less horizontal looming position. There was still no sign to stop, though he was studious and sharp and careful to pick up on anything that told him to stop as he drew closer, descending, closer and closer, eyes only shifting away to momentarily peek at his target; that mouth, those sweet lips from which unsweet words usually spilled forth. Thousands of nights he dreamt of capturing those lips again, or the kisses they used to give him, the way they'd brush gently enough to elicit a shiver from him when Bilbo spoke softly against the back of his neck. That mouth that twisted into sinful smirks and lovingly taunted him more often than murmured sweet nothings. He could barely remember the true feeling, the taste of those lips that belonged to Bilbo Baggins. Just a kiss. Just a kiss and a whisper of love was all they needed back then to renew their morale. Just a kiss could would be enough for Thorin to believe they could defeat Smaug.

  
No, no! He absolutely _could_ deny this. Bilbo knew he was better than this. He snatched his hand away from Thorin's skin and crossed his arms over his chest, squirming away from being mostly under Thorin's hovering form, and still with a slur on his tongue he said, "'s'not my fault we're'nt together 'nymore, y'know."

  
Thorin could've wailed in sorrow, but instead simply let his arms give out and plummeted face first into his pillow with a quiet whine. He could hear Bilbo grumbling beside him, unsure if there were actual words happening or if he was just making disgruntled noises, either way, he was beat, both physically and mentally. He turned his head to the side, toward the Siren and sighed, "Go to sleep, Baggins."

  
With the Siren dismissed, his emotions trampled, exhaustion took Thorin quickly, and with Bilbo's scent mixed with wine still lingering beside him he was lulled into unconsciousness even faster.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
Thorin jolted awake to the sound and feel of a loud bang from the ground floor, the fear of being under attack was quieted when he heard the familiar voices of his nephews making their obnoxious entrance into headquarters. The fear of being attacked was still present, but not enough for him jump up and into action, he simply relaxed back into his bed and groaned pitifully, hearing the muted voice of Fíli asking where Bilbo was.

  
His head pounded slightly from the drinks of the previous night and with mounting aggravation. Goddamn beastly teenagers, they would've seen Bilbo on his cot the very moment they walked into HQ.

  
Then came a call of, "Biiiillllllboooo!" with the sound of boots thudding quickly up the stairs.

  
Thorin groaned again; abhorrent little pests. But then he heard a small gasp and a breathed out curse before his arm dropped. He opened his eyes then, blinking and scrambling beneath the sheet to understand just why the hell his arm had been supported on something (or rather someone) before falling through open air and settling on a body warmed piece of the mattress next to him. Had Bilbo stayed with him, slept in his bed with him through the night?

  
The next moment Kíli came crashing through the door, "Hey Uncle! Have you seen Bilbo?"

  
Thorin nearly panicked, glad that Bilbo had been so quick, that the Mithril somehow still lingered lest the teen would've caught them. But as it was now he just looked like a grumpy old man with a glare in his tired eyes that could mortally wound.

  
"He's down here, Kí!"

  
"What in god's fucking name is wrong with you children! It's six in the fucking morning and you come in here shouting to high heaven?!" Dwalin scolded just as loudly, if not louder than how the boys had trapezed into the building, though his voice was still thick with sleep it was no less terrifying.

  
"Sorry! We were just hoping Bilbo would bless us with another five star breakfast!" Kíli offered in a quick explanation before he squeaked in fear and vaulted down the stairs, away from Dwalin approaching with a heavily furrowed brow and eyes just as murderous as Thorin's.

  
Dwalin leaned against the doorway and sighed, scrubbing a hand over his tired face, "Hellions," he murmured into his fingers.

  
Thorin grunted a sound of agreement before falling back against his pillows, staring at the ceiling, listening to all the sounds of the now wakened HQ. Dwalin grumbling as he shuffled back to the bunks in the next room, Bilbo agreeing to making breakfast as long as the boys helped him and found him some aspirin first. Balin, Dwalin and Dori passed his doorway, filing down the steps to take part in another magnificent breakfast. He couldn't place a solid emotion about his feelings toward Bilbo staying in his bed, having an arm around Bilbo as he slept again - sad, happy, angry, what, he didn't know. He turned into the space that Bilbo and occupied and leeched the warmth and scent for a few more moments before he eased himself out of bed and grabbed a shirt before following the crowd and hoping to get some of that aspirin too.

  
Thorin's burning question of: what the fuck? was put on hold, and would probably remain on hold until he could get Bilbo alone again. The moment he set foot on the ground floor he was tugged along by the arm, Kíli explaining that they had to get some groceries really quick, like _really_ quick. So quick that walking shoe-less and jacket-less, all together looking like shit twice baked over in hell, through the city was necessary, apparently. He and Kíli retrieved the needed items and returned just as the coffee was brewed. Breakfast was made, and more and more of Durin's Days' finest walked through the doorway, more orders were made, plates filled, and Dori's desk was used as a dining table again, everyone chatting idly about the new jobs posted on the Bounty Board.

  
Bilbo had bypassed tea in favor of coffee, hardly touching his own plate of food, just nibbling at the toast. Elbows on the table, his head was kept aloft solely by his hands as he moaned and groaned, then wondered aloud if Mithril would cure his hangover. Which then prompted Dori to start yammering on about further tests and shuffling through his chaotic workspace corner, muttering to himself until he ultimately let out a short sound of anger and informed them that they were out of the injectable Mithril.

  
"No Mithril? None?" Bilbo repeated.

  
"S'rare," Bofur shrugged, "Especially now."

  
"That's alright," Dwalin assured, "The old mining town Spider's Cleft hit a new vein, they've been supplying Smaug with most of his Mithril recently. I'm sure he won't mind if we take some," the soldier grinned. "Oh! And while you're at it, you might as well rob the bank and rub out Smaug's ol' gal, Sheriff Shelob. It's stolen money, after all, and she's killed countless innocents and Durin's Day soldiers."

  
"Consider it done," Bilbo agreed, though he's still clutched at his forehead.

  
Thorin sipped slowly at his coffee, eyes flitting from one person to another, trying not to give off an air of suspicion (looking suspicious himself and looking at his comrades suspiciously), trying not to look guilty, though his heart sank like a rock into his gut. He could, he should tell them, but he neglects to; to tell them about the secret stash in his closet full of money, priceless artifacts of Arda, and pounds and pounds of Mithril. He neglected to tell them because, well, because he didn't want to. Because it was his treasure. The beginning of Vault Sickness was taking hold, but if he didn't acknowledge it then it wouldn't be a problem, it would fade away, and he would be alright. Just like Bilbo hadn't and wouldn't attain an addiction to Mithril. They would be alright. Right?

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a language expert. I can barely speak and write English as it is, so I can't be expected to understand fictional languages. My Elvish source is elfdict.com and they told me babe in Sindarin is laes. So... There's that. Miquelis is Quenya for soft, sweet kiss.
> 
> Also I need opinions! I'm so unsure when it comes to rating things. Should I up the rating to mature because of how many fuck words I use and also the slightly more graphic depictions of sexuality??? Someone please tell me. 
> 
> In other news! I am the dwarven shitbag! I don't know what happened in the last month and a half but I was definitely not writing. This chapter's just been waiting to be edited, and I did it and yeah... I've got a set number of chapters! After outlining what I want to happen it should come out to twenty chapters. So many. SO MANY. But hopefully I can get slightly back on track with this work... Maybe. I'm a terrible person, wow.


	12. Like The Very First Time Someone Else Makes You Come

.

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"I mean! You _could_ \- in theory - **just** steal the Mithril, but where's the fun - tell me, where is the **_showmanship_** in that?" Each of them - Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, Kíli - could hear Ori through their comms like the thirteen-year-old was trying to sell them something, and the sound of Dwalin in the background trying to pry him away from the control panel, "But wouldn't it be _better_ and **funner** to **_blow up_** the train tracks?! Not only would there be a pretty explosion, but we'd be - ow! - stopping Spider's Cleft supply from reaching the Lonely Mountain! Ow! Hey! What the hell's the matter with you?! We're not all brawny, stoic giants, y'know! That's gonna bruise, you tit! Fíli, do something!"

The sounds of whines and struggling faded away into background noise and Dwalin's voice returned, "Though I don't actually like to admit it, that little maniac shit has a point - Hey! No explosives in the command center! We have rules for a reason!"

Something like, 'Aww man, this place is so stingy' could be heard in Ori's dejected tone.

"Demolish the tracks and take all that you can get. That _and_ robbing the bank should be more than enough initiative to draw Shelob out of her hole."

More sounds of a squabble could be heard after that, mostly Dwalin shooing Ori away and shouting for Fíli to do something, then Fíli huffing out unintelligible noises of distress, unsure of what _doing something_ meant, unsure of who to aid, who to listen to, the younger or the elder, until he ultimately wailed loud enough to hear clearly through the comms that he wished he wasn't stuck there and could've gone on the mission, _a_ mission, he'd take anything at this point!

"Roger that," Balin murmured and closed the comm link since his brother obviously had his hands full and couldn't end the call from HQ's end. The others followed his example and the actual deathly quiet of the old rocky, dusty town fell around them.

Spider's Cleft had been a ghost town until Smaug sent more miners down to dig deeper, as he did with all of Arda's mines until they were bled dry and he resorted to demolishing towns to create new excavation sites.

"So!" Balin broke the silence, "Should be relatively simple. Money, Mithril, murder. Not necessarily in that order. Probably - money, murder, then Mithril; shit's heavy, you know. Let's just hope robbing her bank ruffles Shelob's feathers enough to show up and face us. Wretched bitch."

During the drive toward Mordor where Spider's Cleft was just a spit puddle of a town a northwest stone's throw away from the volcanic metropolis, Bilbo was given the short story on Sheriff Shelob. Apparently everybody had dated everybody at one point or another while he was gone; he wouldn't be surprised if there was a secret orgy they were neglecting to tell him about, and he was grateful because he sure as fuck did NOT want to hear about that. He was stunned to learn of Glóin and Thranddi's short marriage, and shocked further upon understanding that Thranddi and Smaug had been an exclusive couple, but Shelob and Smaug? He sort of saw that coming. Really, it was obvious. They were both terrible people. Shelob was a notorious mass murderer all on her own before Smaug slapped a badge to her chest and gave her free reign over Spider's Cleft - which, incidentally, was the town in which she'd actually committed most of her murders; how very fitting. She was a grotesque human being, if one could call her as such; she was just about on the same level of monstrosity as Smaug, though she hadn't undergone any plastic surgery to physically transform herself into a different image; though if she did, an enormous, repulsive arachnid would be the perfect modification.

So the story went Smaug made her a Sheriff, she fell for his charm, they got together, and she was just a brutal as Azog, only she was lazy. Dís had encountered the Sheriff a few times - Kíli explained - and she was a sneaky, cheating coward when it came to a fight. She was more likely to send out brutes to do her dirty work for her, but when she did come out for battle she never fought fair. Though really, no one was exactly fighting fair these days, but she was downright cruel and immoral; when it came right down to it she was and always would be a blood thirsty murderer... Which is probably what largely attracted Smaug, since she wasn't all that great to look at.

They decided to take Ori's advice and blow the tracks, which detoured the course of their mission, meaning the first day was spent solely searching for appropriate explosives. A demolition site was less likely to crop up in their path than a gang of psycho orcs with suicide bombers. Bilbo thought about just teleporting to their stash and coming back with whatever he swiped, but when he concentrated and didn't blip away in a flash but rather simply faded into invisibility they knew the Mithril was no longer lingering in his system anymore, he was clean again, and they did well to make a note of the time for Dori's sake.

Purging Arda of yet another clan of psychos was all in a day's work, they set up their own camp where the orcs had been comfortably settled. The bodies of the dead were far enough away not to poison the air with their stench, but not so far away for any wanderers to stumble upon them; at least Kíli was making sure of that, volunteering to walk the perimeter and keep watch for a while. Though with the way he was clutching at his ECHOdevice behind his back, Bilbo had an inkling he was anxious to call someone, probably someone - _the only someone_ \- local to the Mirkwood Bight. Bilbo thought it was cute, so he didn't say anything, or make any indication that he knew what the boy was up to. With Balin giving a mission update to his brother through comms, Bilbo was left without any nearby deterrents to save him from Thorin's steely, questioning expression.

It was only a matter of time before Thorin quit staring and finally approached Bilbo, and when he did he was as eloquent and smooth as he always was.

"What the fuck."

Sort of.

Bilbo released a sighing breath he hadn't known he was holding in until Thorin finally spoke. He knew this was coming, he had a hazy recollection of what occurred the previous night, going to Thranddi's and drinking himself stupid and dancing for a bit before Thorin had to rescue him and take them home, er, to HQ. He didn't know what compelled him to blink himself into Thorin's quarters, all blame rested solely on the traitorous drink. Maybe it was jealousy too, and maybe part nostalgia. Maybe a hideous combination. But just when that sobering realization hit him, he knew he couldn't let that kiss happen, no matter how badly he wanted it too.

The thing was, they had begun their relationship quite quickly. Young and reckless and eager; and by rights it was probably a violation of the Baruk Khazad code and would've stripped Thorin of his rank and uniform if anyone else (namely his grandfather) had found out. But it was under those dangerous, flat out deadly circumstances that fueled their mutual lusty urge. Bilbo had had lots of time to think about it, realizing that their relationship wasn't normal, that they weren't normal, and probably without the violence and battle to fall back on, they probably wouldn't have liked each other at all. With twenty years alone, idle thoughts now and then tending to steep on the worst break up ever, his logic might’ve gone a little too dramatic. But that was his rationale to stop the kiss before it set their carnal desires into motion again. They didn't really like each other; it wasn't real. Right?

"I know," Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and drove his fingers into his curls and tugged as he woefully, haltingly apologized, "I'm sorry. I don't - I really don't know why - or - or how, or what I was thinking. It was - it was wrong... of me. To do that. And I'm sorry," he sighed again and let his hair go, finally able to turn toward Thorin but still incapable of meeting his eyes, "It won't happen again," he promised quietly.

Silence was heavy between them, only the sounds of nocturnal wildlife at play and the distant noise of Balin and Dwalin speaking through comms. Bilbo was about to make up an excuse to find Kíli, even if it meant interrupting the kid’s call to Tauriel, he had to make a break from the awkward suffocating tension; also a leisurely walk in the calm, cool night would probably do wonders for the throbbing in his temples and ache in his bones.

He moved to rearrange his legs to climb to his feet, but halted at the sound of Thorin's quiet sigh. Bilbo glanced up to him to see his hands shuffling about his person before he brought up a pistol, pulled back the hammer and directed his shot at the pile of repurposed wood and scrap of a psycho orc's tent. One incendiary round set the pile ablaze, and Thorin settled the pistol back in its holster before (with oldman-like pained groans of effort, which secretly pleased Bilbo, glad that Thorin’s age kept up with him regardless of his rockin' body) he clambered to the ground and crossed his legs beneath him, staring into the fire for a few quiet moments longer before he finally spoke again, "Well, I mean-!" Ah, such poise. Bilbo felt a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, knowing Thorin was born with a fluency with words and natural leadership, but around him? Alone together? He reverted into a bit of a mess, bouts of shyness and hesitancy. Bilbo settled back down into as much of a comfortable position as the hard, desert terrain could spare him and listened as Thorin continued with, "It wasn't - I didn't _hate_ waking up like that; you know, not alone. Well, I _did_ hate that particularly loud-teen-wake-up-call-parade. That is definitely one of my least favorite ways of waking up. But even if I only realized after you vanished it was... good." Thorin's eyes remained mostly on the fire, only flickered toward Bilbo briefly before he added, "It doesn't - You don't have to make sure it won't happen again...? I guess...?"

A smile had possessed Bilbo's mouth, but it wilted at the corners. This is what he was afraid of, the very moment he realized he'd remained in Thorin's bed, the implications that would stem from Thorin's mind. The renewed attachment, the hope. He so didn't want to crush Thorin's hope, but he himself didn't want to get hurt again either.

Bilbo snorted softly, "Wow. You really are rubbish at this," he had to switch the mood, change the focus somehow, "Surely in the past twenty years you've had chances to hone your flirting skills, I mean, good lord, you're as awkward as Kíli is with Tauriel."

 _Conversation course diversion: initiated_.

"Ah, the Elven maiden from Mirkwood, the reason why Kí's got hearts in his eyes."

_Conversation course diversion status: success!_

"Ugh, you are so old fashioned, it's appalling sometimes," Bilbo groaned with a disgusted tone but a chuckle won out towards the end.

"So how is she? Good for him?"

 _Conversation course - Parenting? Status: interesting, very interesting_.

Bilbo wasn't a pro in terms of parenting, the most he had done with Frodo is babysit for an entire weekend, which went well, little kids were pretty easy to keep entertained. Kíli and Fíli were almost - basically adults. Ori was... something else. He couldn't imagine what it would've been like to be present in their lives as they grew up, how if he had a place in their lives what his presence would have contributed to shaping them into young men, young soldiers... He would've been there, it could've happened, but his chance was taken from him. He figured this was it, to make up for lost time, he could give the parenting thing a go. Was Tauriel good for Kíli? "Definitely. Strong, sweet, smart, ruthless, tall, gorgeous. She stands on her own two feet just fine out there in the Bight, could probably stand for Kíli too without breaking a sweat. Actually, I'm not quite sure he deserves her just yet, but, ultimately, yes, they'd make a good pair." The next words that spilled from his mouth he didn't have any control over - _conversation course - revert initiative - pending status: No, no! Abort, abort_! - he cursed his mind and his tongue as he quietly mused, "Must be a Siren thing, finding companionship in people just as strong and willful as we are... and taller than us."

 _Abort abort abort_!

"Is she really that much taller than him?"

_Stay on diversion course!_

"Just a few inches. You know how Elven people are generally pretty tall. It's cute, the way he looks up at her."

_Diversion status: Damn fuck shit hell! Better, now just don’t turn the conversation back to you two!_

Bilbo cleared his throat, he had to divert the conversation again, but it seemed his mouth and mind were at oods, "Seriously though, I'm 41, which makes you 46? And you still can't properly talk to boys, you're garbage at this."

"So my skills are a little rusty," Thorin shrugged.

 _Diversion status: What the fuck’s the matter with you?_!

"They've always been rusty. All they are is rust. But that's expected from a good, goal-oriented, yes-man soldier... Which you know, is admirable, makes for a great leader-"

Bilbo's ramblings were cut short when Thorin added, "But still fucks up relationships." The tension was so thick it was suffocating, Bilbo was positive that gravity had decided to quit and soon he'd be crushed and blessedly spared from the awkwardness between them, but no, the universe wasn't that kind. Thorin spoke again, cautious and hopeful, "Do you - I mean - would you want to... you know... try again?"

 _Conversation course diversion status: You fucking knob, I fucking give up_.

Bilbo's heart thumped painfully hard against his ribs, throat and tongue gone dry, he tried to moisten his lips before he began in a tone just as cautious as Thorin's, "If I'm honest... I would absolutely love to..." He didn't dare look up and make eye contact with Thorin, just the look of hope in his eyes would do him in for sure, but he also didn't want to see that hope violently extinguished when he continued on with, "I just don't know if I can."

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, the silence hurting probably more than seeing a down trodden Thorin; he couldn't help himself, trying to bring an uplifting note back in, trying to get a laugh to ease the tension, "Don't get me wrong, I'd love a visit to the Lórien Pools and pretend we haven't aged a day, those were the days, those days. _Those days_ …” Bilbo trailed off. “But... but, umm... Sorry, got lost for a moment. What are we talking about?"

With the sound of Thorin's chuckle Bilbo had enough courage to look up again, heartbreak lingered in his eyes but was fleeting with each deep laugh that shook through the soldier's chest. Bilbo laughed along, his chuckles quieting into a smirk as two sets of boots crunched on the desert dirt from different directions. Balin approaching the fire from behind the seated two, and Kíli coming the opposite direction from where he'd taken off earlier, trying resolutely to put on a stern if not completely void, expression his face, though with the smile turning up the corners of his mouth, he was clearing losing the battle of projected smitten emotions.

"Ohh, look who's come back," Thorin murmured, drawing out his cross legs to stretch before him, and leaning back on his elbows, tone still tinted with laughter, "My god, that dopey look on his face."

Balin let out a sigh as he arranged himself on the ground beside the fire, opposite of Bilbo. He caught the Siren's eyes and for a moment Bilbo was wary of the mischievous glint he saw in the elder's stare, "As I recall, you looked just as dopey, if not dopier after Bilbo popped your cherry." The words left the eldest Dwarven soldier as simply as stating a fact and with a slight grunt as he finally settled down.

Like a physical blow, Thorin elbows gave out on keeping him elevated, and he hit the ground with a puff of dust and a small manly yelp of, "Balin!"

Bilbo slapped a hand over his own mouth, smothering the laughter that so badly wanted to explode from him like tortured screams, tears filled his eyes and nearly spilled over when Kíli - sweet, precious Kíli - curiously wondered, "What about cherries?"

"Nothing! There's no-! We should- Uh!" Thorin spluttered and scrambled up to his feet, pulling the tie from his hair to utilize the thick wavy locks as a curtain to hide his face stained bright red, "Someone should stand on watch while everyone rests, I'll go!"

Kíli took Thorin's abandoned spot, completely confused while his uncle hurried off without a backward glance, Bilbo looked fit to burst, and Balin looked deviously pleased. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know had happened in his absence; he was still trying to scrub out the visual images Bilbo painted in his mind about intimate times between the siren and his uncle. Ick.

 

* * *

 

 

"Dance Commander here, giving out the orders for fun; how may I get your party started?"

The group in Spider's Cleft let out a collective sigh, the dust around them still settling to ground after their relatively short fight with what seemed like the entire town and finally it’s Sheriff. Kíli dutifully kept the amused smile out of his tone when he answered, "Ori, give the control board back to Dwalin."

"Aw, man, do I have to? Oh wait, I've been sending out invites for a meet up at Thranddi's tonight, everyone wants to know if Captain Handsome is gonna be there." There was a soft tone of a notification bell, and Ori cheered, "Oh! A new message! It's from Thranddi and he wants to know if... Ehh..." there was a brief pause, and then Ori leaning away enough from the comm mic to mutter quietly but not quietly enough, "Hey, Fíli, does that mean what I think it means? Because if so, DO THORIN AND BILBO REALLY DO THAT TO EACH OTHER?!" They all flinched when Ori's voice boomed loud and shrill in hysteria, followed by what sounded like Littlescrap's voice sounding appalled and horror struck, "OH MY GOD!"

"Nori, what's it mean?!"

"I forbid you from talking to Thranddi ever again!" Both Littlescrap and Ori's voice grew more distant, likely the elder dragging the younger away from the control board and the numerous screens where Thranddi's message was likely still lighting up one of them.

"Seriously though, do they actually do that?"

"Not anymore," another snorted.

"Fíli!" Nori chastised.

"Well they might be headed there again," they could practically hear the shrug in Fíli's voice, "Uncle has no idea how obviously his eyes wander."

Thorin, flushed brightly, but with the way his brows were pinched together he looked more angry than embarrassed as he bellowed, "Hi! We're _all_ on this call, Fíli!"

"Oh shit!" Fíli wailed and cursed again after a particularly loud crash. Dwalin's dark chuckles sounded loudest, Fíli's mournfully muttering and the Orson brothers squabbling in the background.

"Wow! Moving right along! Mission report, are you ready, Dwalin?" Bilbo broke in, getting them back on track, giving Thorin a respite to regain his coloring. He took a breath before, like a dramatic reading of an excerpt from a book, he recited, "Sure, Shelob had a way of dodging bullets, but an invisible knife to gut? Pfft! Even if she had four pairs of eyes she wouldn't have seen Sting comin'."

"You mean your pocket knife did her in?" Dwalin confirmed.

Bilbo's dramatic façade fell away when he choked before rebutting, "It's not a pocket knife!"

"You're right, pocket knife is too generous, more like a letter opener," Balin's raucous hooting laughter echoed throughout the ghost town.

Bilbo glared as the elder soldier lost himself in his laughter and fell back on the pile of money behind him. The Siren gritted his teeth, muttering through them, "Regardless of what heavy weaponry you Dwarven jerkasses haul around, Sting still saved the day. And you should all be grateful."

"What's a 'Sting'?" Ori's curious voice sounded loud and clear again.

Dwalin answered simply, "It's what he calls his butterknife."

Bilbo bursted, "Okay! Thorin's turret is named _Orcrist_! Dwalin, your knuckle duster's are _Grasper_ and _Keeper_! Don't even make it seem like **I'm** the weird one!"

Dwalin snorted again, then asked in a more professional tone, "Is that all you have to report?"

"Oh no," Bilbo snapped back into Vault Hunter mode, forgoing the goofy dramatic recitation, "We robbed Spider's Cleft bank, demolished the mine’s shipment tracks, got our haul of Mithril, _and also_ held up and rerouted a high-speed delivery train that was about to make a deposit to Spider's Cleft bank," he grinned as he looked up to the two in the cargo hold of the last train car. Balin was still lost in giggles, wiping tears from his eyes, reclined among stacks of bills. Kíli was perched on the open doorway, legs hanging over the edge and idly kicking through the air, he made a mock salute to Bilbo.

"We filled it with all the money and Mithril we _liberated_ , so expect that train within the next two hours and send a group out to collect from it," Thorin picked up where Bilbo left off, waving a hand at his nephew to stand up.

"Aye," Dwalin answered, and Kíli drew his legs inside the car and stood up, watching his uncle make a vague gesture between Bilbo and the control panel beside the door just beside the open doorway where Kíli was. Bilbo rolled his eyes before following the silent order and rechecking the rerouted destination and locking it in the coordinates before setting up the next pending orders to close and lock doors and finally depart.

"Kíli and Balin are on the train guarding the load. Bilbo and I are going to give this area one final sweep before we head out."

"Aye aye."

The transmission ended, Bilbo hit a series of buttons on the panel that Thorin couldn't begin to fathom, pending yellow changed to approved green. Bilbo stepped away from the train car, one after the other, from the first car to the last where Kíli and Balin were comfortably situated, the doors shut and locked. Kíli raised his hand in a wave to which both Bilbo and Thorin waved back before the door shut with a resounding swish and thud, followed by a loud thunk of the lock sliding into place. A few moments later the train slowly departed from the station, already building up speed as it headed for its new destination at the Last Bridge Station about fifty miles west from Rivendell, far enough away for a short retrieval trip and to keep the citizens and refugees of the sanctuary safe should the train come under enemy attack.

The ghost town was just that again, eerily quiet, with a fresh stench of death in the air. After the showdown on Main Street just a couple hours earlier there were no goblin bandits hidden and waiting to pounce out from the shadows, no crooked murderess Sheriff calling the shots; there was just a self-directing mining system composed of a series of conveyor belts and rock crushers that couldn't be stopped without the proper directive codes, or a well-placed explosive. But seeing as they didn't want to cause anymore destruction to the town than Smaug already dealt upon it, they let the mine be for now.

Refined blocks and unrefined clumps of Mithril ore took up most of the space in the back seat of the ELK. Bilbo's eyes were stuck on the glimmering palm sized chunk of ore in his hand as he walked a few paces behind Thorin; he trusted Thorin enough to see something and react while he was distracted, though his heightened Siren senses were keener anyway.

"What would happen if I just ate it?" Bilbo mused, shifting the element into his other hand pinched between his forefinger and thumb, raising it up to block out the sun in the sky, "I mean, what's the difference, it's unrefined Mithril ore, not liquified, but still..."

"Do not eat the Mithril, Bilbo," Thorin responded as calmly as if he were mildly scolding his nephews.

"But really-"

"Do not. Eat. The Mithril."

Bilbo huffed and closed his fingers around the Mithril chunk, tucking his fist into his pocket as he wondered, "Well then what if I absorbed it or something."

"How could you possibly _absorb_ it? Where are you even getting these ideas?" Thorin hadn't even paused in step as Bilbo's ludicrous thoughts were outwardly projected, hardly any inflection in his tone, hadn't even glanced over his shoulder.

"I don't know! I just wanna try out the new powers again," Bilbo muttered and squeezed his hand tighter around the glittering white rock in his trouser pocket, but his body didn't absorb it, a sharper edge just cut into his palm, causing a short hiss of pain and irritation - that throbbing in his head was back and beginning to travel down his neck to infect the rest of his body, thrumming exasperation.

"Bilbo."

The Siren startled, letting go of the ore and half skidding to a stop before he walked straight into Thorin's halted half turned form. He glanced up, squinting against the brightest of the sun and saw that look of concern on Thorin's face, the same look on his face after he'd picked him up outside of the Lorien forest after his first hit and jump. It had only been the first hit, he wasn't addicted, if that’s what Thorin was thinking, he wasn't a junkie. Sure it had been a huge dosage, too huge for the first go, but Bilbo didn't have a problem, and he assured Thorin of that, "If amplified Siren powers help us defeat Smaug then I'm gonna utilize it for all it's worth, that's all."

That concerned look didn't go away with Bilbo's assertion, but after a long few moments of that silent stare Thorin nodded once, "Alright," and started to walk again, and this time Bilbo hurried his own steps to keep his stride beside him. "Just. Don't eat it, alright? Óin and Dori can take care of the dissolving process." The soldier smirked when Bilbo let out a sigh like an affronted child before agreeing. They moved on through the town with just the sound of their boots crunching on dirt and the occasional distant caw or bark from nearby wildlife. The town was clear, they picked up any abandoned guns or loose ammo they found as they went. Thorin wanted to do one last circuit around the town's perimeter, just in case any goblins lingered, though if there were any there was no doubt that they'd already made a report to someone, and whoever that someone was probably reported it to someone else who would tell Smaug, and it was only a matter of time before they got an angry call from the mid-op dragon bastard about stealing his stuff... oh, and also killing his girlfriend. Thorin's jaw clenched as he realized the similarities between Smaug and himself concerning their priorities. More and more each day he was starting to value his secret riches and treasures over people, his comrades; he briefly squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the day the Vault Sickness encompassed him completely, would he become so indifferent toward his followers and kinsmen, would he step over his own nephews corpses just to add more to his treasure hoard? He banished the thought away, shook away the barely formed horrific images in his mind and asked Bilbo a question just to distract himself, "So what's it feel like, anyway? The Mithril, I mean."

With hardly any hesitation Bilbo answered, "Like the very first time someone else makes you come." That definitely helped Thorin push away those unsavory thoughts, he turned widened eyes to the Siren who simply shrugged, adding, "That's the only accurate comparison I can liken it to."

Thorin snorted softly, "Right... Well, that seems about right. With the look on your face before you disappeared."

"Pervert!" Bilbo laughed aloud, the sound echoing off the small mountains around them.

"...You said you'd like to visit the Lorien Pools again... I mean, I know you meant it figuratively, but... uhh," Thorin halted, and Bilbo glanced at him to see him flushing and wincing as he likely tried to drum up some clever words to fix the mess his stumbling tongue made.

Bilbo laughed in his throat, snorting shortly before he wondered, "Are you trying to flirt with me? No, no. Wait a moment... Are you _failing_ in trying to flirt with me while asking if it's okay to flirt with me?" He snorted again, laughing aloud, "By all means, if you're capable of it, go ahead and try."

Thorin very nearly pouted, "Rude."

"We've already established that your terrible skills at talking to boys hasn't improved. So it's highly doubtful your flirting have taken the aging-like-a-fine-wine route."

"Even more rude."

"Prove me wrong."

"Fine then I will!" Thorin huffed, and though they had met when they were in their twenties, they were acting like they had known each other since they were feuding children in a school yard. Suffice it to say, the tension that had initially accompanied them on this journey had vanished, and was replaced with something more warily hopeful, though slightly familiar. Familiar in the way that Thorin's pulse fluttered simply from walking beside Bilbo, Bilbo talking to him, Bilbo joking with him. Resentment was no longer involved, at least in the way that Bilbo had bristled with hatred the moment he opened his door to reveal Thorin. They were working together, like old times. And with the way things were going smoothly, not only with their mission objectives, it was only natural that Thorin's hope kept rebuilding itself, regardless of the impending dashing or crushing of it. He knew he fucked up, pushing Bilbo away and letting him go, he knew that couldn't be easily forgiven, yet still, he had hope. He would gladly receive punishment for all of his misdoings if it meant being Bilbo's again. "But, um... Getting back together..." softly, cautiously, he wondered.

For a few moments Thorin thought he might've mumbled too quietly when Bilbo didn't make a sound of acknowledgement, but then the Siren spoke, "I mean I… I could see it happening. Like I said, honestly, I do and don't want it happening... But I just think..." the unsure softness of Bilbo's tone disappeared in place of a warrior's hard conviction, "Right now, we should really keep all of our focus on staying alive and seeing this mission all the way through."

"I agree," Thorin nodded, and paused for two moments before adding, "So, no sex." His small smirk grew wider in triumph when Bilbo physically stumbled and choked on nothing.

The Siren burst into slightly cynical laughter, glaring at the soldier just a few steps ahead of him now since he was caught off guard and nearly tripped over his own feet, "You must think I'm _so_ desperate... Well, after twenty years I _am_ , but that doesn't mean I forgive you for being such an asshole enough to fuck you! Hell! I'd visit Thranddi before I fell into bed with you again!"

Thorin gave him a measured look over his shoulder and Bilbo nodded, "Okay that's a lie, but the point is!" he muttered quickly, "We are not getting back together. Not at this moment, at the very least. My amorous feelings toward you are still... up in the air and confused. So let's not. Do that thing. Until. Everything and the danger is finished and. Taken care… Of…"

Thorin laughed and proceeded to tease Bilbo, since that seemed like an okay thing to do, after Bilbo's teasing approval to flirt with him, "And you said _I_ was bad at talking to boys."

Bilbo scoffed and growled, and Thorin decided to count that as a win.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God! I love awkward Thorin. Okay, so this chapter was originally planned to be longer but I figured naaah this is a good place to end, with Thorin and Bilbo friendly with each other again, yaaay! Possible rekindled romance?? Who's to know!!!... Okay let's be serious, we all know those two idiots will always get back together. Ugh. Dummies. 
> 
> Spider's Cleft -- Lynchwood.   
> Sheriff Shelob -- Sheriff Nisha. 
> 
> Also. This is a sort of celebratory chapter posting for me/I wanted to post in case this week of school actually kills me. So thanks for reading!!


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